


The Night of the Hunter

by soulfulsin



Series: Night of the Hunter [1]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Badass, Bounty Hunters, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-08-02 21:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 48,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16313078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulfulsin/pseuds/soulfulsin
Summary: Webbigail Vanderquack, raised by FOWL agents after an abduction at age five, is a bounty hunter looking for Magica de Spell and her niece, Lena de Spell. But will her training keep her from finding out the truth about her history? And the heart she thought she'd buried?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of a crack AU. I liked the idea of Webby being a bounty hunter--I'm not sure where I'm going with this or if I'm going with this. It's fun to play with, though. It was the first full-length thing I posted in the last few days.

Webbigail Vanderquack was very good at what she was--a bounty hunter. Right now, her target was Magica de Spell, who’d been elusive, as had her niece, Lena de Spell. The two didn’t work together, as far as Webby knew, but if you could find one, you’d inevitably find the other, the saying went. She admitted she was curious about Lena. The name sounded familiar, in an odd way, and Webby had learned to trust her instincts.

 

They were all she had, after all.

 

She had no friends, no family. At five, she’d been kidnapped by FOWL agents on the one day a year that she and her grandmother left the manor, Mr. McDuck’s birthday. She barely remembered her grandmother, truth be told. And Steelbeak hadn’t encouraged her to think of her past. From the time he’d had her, he and Black Heron had molded her into a killer. All previous obsessions and concerns were whittled away. She forgot everything she knew about Mr. McDuck and his family or stored it where no one knew about it.

 

She was lonely but didn’t dare get close to anyone. The only people she got close to were her targets and that never ended happily.

 

She was fifteen years old and she was looking to get her first notch on her killer belt. She’d never killed anyone before and she was anxious over it. She shouldn’t be--FOWL had stressed that--but she was. Deep down, where she buried her knowledge of the McDuck family, was a small ball of goodness and light. While she was careful never to let it show, she nurtured it from time to time. She didn’t want to become so cruel that there was no way back.

 

Considering how much she had changed in the past ten years, Steelbeak thought it unlikely anyone would recognize her as the long-lost Webbigail Vanderquack. Just in case, she didn’t use that name. Instead, she was known as Snow Goose, despite not being a goose. To accommodate the role, Webby had dyed her feathers all white, including that persistent bit of blonde that kept creeping in.

 

She wasn’t sure how she’d feel if anyone recognized her in Duckburg. She was at a diner and scanning the other patrons. A group of triplets was arguing over something on the menu a few booths down. A rooster fussed with a lightbulb at the counter and a superhero she recognized as Gizmoduck was nursing a root beer float. All in all, no one paid her the slightest bit of attention.

 

Something about the triplets was nagging at her, something oddly familiar. It was the same thing as it had been with Lena; like she ought to have known them. That didn’t mean she was compromising her mission for them. It meant she could stand to keep a close eye on them, just in case.

 

She nursed her own drink. Rumor had it that Lena le Strange/de Spell had been spotted in Duckburg, but she’d been here for forty minutes and the girl had yet to make an appearance. Surveillance work could be deadly dull. It was possible that the intel Webby had was wrong and Lena didn’t frequent this diner. It was also possible that she was looking in the wrong place in general and Duckburg was not where her prey was. With Lena, FOWL had uses for her. With Magica, they wanted her dead. She was too headstrong and powerful to control and they knew she’d spin the situation to suit herself.

 

Lena looked to be more malleable. At least, that was the hope.

 

Webby glanced down at herself; she was wearing all black. A black mini skirt, black plastic vest, and black knee-high boots. No wonder the boys kept sneaking glances at her. She ignored them. No, if her target wasn’t here, then she was wasting her time. There were hideaways in Duckburg according to Steelbeak and Black Heron and she intended to poke in them until she found her quarry.

 

Paying the bill, she departed the restaurant and stood on the outside steps to figure out her next move. A few seconds later, a boy wearing a blue shirt darted up to her and she frowned. It was one of the triplets who had been arguing over the menu earlier.

 

“Hi,” she said. She’d had years to swallow back the rest of that--hi, I’m Webby.

 

“Hey,” he said. “I’m Dewey. Look, I know this is probably ridiculous and you’re probably just gonna blow me off, but I wanted to give you my number. I know, normally the girl gives the guy her number, but you don’t strike me as the kinda person who would do that. And you’re really pretty and...I’m gonna stop now. I’m rambling.”

 

Webby frowned. He was kinda cute if you were into that sort of thing. And his awkwardness around her was refreshing and honest. She took the slip of paper and shoved it into her pocket--yes, her skirt had pockets. It was amazing. Maybe she’d call him, maybe she wouldn’t. She shouldn’t be getting close to anyone, but...there was that strange sense of deja vu again.

 

“I’m gonna head back inside, but it was nice to meet you, and, bye!” he said, darting back in and probably back to his brothers to tell them what had happened. Rolling her eyes, she crossed the street from the diner and kept one hand on the piece of paper. She really ought to throw it away, but she was reluctant to. It felt important.

 

With her first potential lead a bust, she decided she’d head into one of the dens of villainy within the city. There were the Beagle Boys, who would be too stupid to give her any good intel. Then there was Flintheart Glomgold, but she’d been warned to stay away from anyone too close to Scrooge McDuck. Steelbeak didn’t want his investment stolen away from him, after putting so much time and effort into training her.

 

Mark Beaks probably wouldn’t know, so she crossed him off her list. She glanced down at her pocket again and thought about it. Who else would know where teenagers hung out but other teens? She already had an in--the blue attired boy, Dewey, who had given her his number. Feeling ridiculous, she crossed the street again and moved with confidence she did not feel toward the booth where the triplets were still holed up. They were arguing over the jukebox now and they silenced as she approached. Dewey’s eyes were wide and for no discernable reason, she blushed. He was the first person she’d encountered who saw her for her and wasn’t looking for whatever attributes he wanted in her. Or so it felt to her. She might have been putting too much thought into it.

 

“Can I join you guys?” she asked. “I’m looking for someone and it’d be easier to talk at the table than to stand here.”

 

The boys moved over and she scooted inside. Dewey sat to her right and the other two introduced themselves as Louie (the boy whose attention was mostly secured to a smartphone) and Huey. Their names sounded vaguely familiar and she frowned, trying to place them. Why should they mean anything to her? She’d had a board...a board with the names of everyone…

 

It was gone. She scowled at herself. Maybe it meant nothing, but she didn’t think so.

 

“You never gave me your name,” Dewey said.

 

She grimaced. They’d never given her a civilian name and her real one wouldn’t do...or would it? What were the chances they’d recognize the name?

 

“Hi, I’m Webby,” she said. Besides, if she gave them her code name, it’d be obvious she wasn’t normal. The last thing she wanted to do was arouse suspicion. That didn’t mean that the back of her neck didn’t prickle when people passed too close to her.

 

“So, where are you from, Webby?” Louie asked, scarfing down cheese fries like they were going out of style.

 

“I was born here, but I’ve been all over,” she said.

 

“You don’t say,” Louie said and Huey groaned.

 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” he chastised his brother. “You know, I think our housekeeper mentioned she had had a granddaughter named Webby.”

 

“Weird, huh?” Dewey said.

 

“It’s gotta be a coincidence,” Huey said and Webby, who had tensed and was contemplating fleeing, straightened. Their housekeeper must’ve been her grandmother. She felt an odd pang and pushed it aside. It would interfere with the mission. But if their housekeeper was Mrs. Beakley, then it stood to reason that the three must have some ties to Scrooge McDuck.

 

Huey, Dewey, and Louie. Why did those names sound so familiar?

 

Hubert, Dewford, and Llewellyn. Huey, Dewey, and Louie. She bit back a curse. She was supposed to stay away from anyone associated with Scrooge McDuck and these three were his grand-nephews. Moreover, they’d heard her name before. Wishing she’d brought her backpack so she could use nerve gas to disable them and make her getaway, she nodded along to Huey’s words so as not to appear like she was freaking out. Even if she was.

 

“It’s kinda sad,” Dewey remarked. “If she were still alive, she’d be about our age.”

 

“What makes you think she isn’t?” she asked, curious.

 

“Mrs. Beakley thinks she is, but that she’s beyond SHUSH’s reach,” Dewey said. Webby froze again. SHUSH. FOWL’s sworn enemy, with agents she was to apprehend and then execute as soon as possible. She was getting in over her head here. She needed to beat a quick retreat and assess what she had. However, she hadn’t gotten what she’d come here for, which was information on Lena de Spell.

 

“Have you ever seen a picture of her?” she asked, wondering now whether visiting Duckburg had been a huge mistake.

 

“One,” Huey said and stared at her. “You know, you look a little like her.”

 

Webby shrugged. “I guess anyone could look like her if you squinted.”

 

She wasn’t sure how to skillfully navigate the conversation back to a safer topic now that she’d started down this road. Huey was eying her.

 

“Who are you looking for?” Dewey asked, surprising and gratifying her by switching the topic to the original one.

 

“A girl named Lena,” she said. “Lena de Spell, Magica de Spell’s niece. I heard she might be around here.”

 

“You mean that weird teenager with the pink streak in her hair? Yeah, we’ve seen her,” Louie said. “She’s not very friendly.”  
  


“Where have you seen her?” she asked, swallowing back rising excitement. She jumped to her feet. “Can you bring me to her?”

 

“Woah, woah, calm down,” Louie said, looking up, alarmed. “I just said we’ve seen her, not that we know her schedule. Why is this so important, anyway? Does she owe you money?”  
  


“I need to find her,” Webby said and thought quickly. “She’s in danger and I need to warn her.”

 

“In danger from who, exactly?” Huey asked.

 

“FOWL,” she said, which was technically correct. When Webby captured Lena, she’d be in danger from FOWL. They might even attempt to kill her if she didn’t prove her worth. Knowing Steelbeak, Webby would be tasked with that.

 

Black Heron had loved that they had swept Agent 22’s granddaughter out from under her. She’d never missed an opportunity to gloat about it and denigrate Beakley to her. Then again, rumor had it that her mechanical arm was Agent 22’s doing and that might be why she was so bitter. Steelbeak had done nothing to discourage that rumor.

 

“How do you know about FOWL?” Huey asked.

 

“How do you?” she asked. “You mentioned SHUSH.”

 

“They have meetings sometimes at the manor,” Dewey commented. “We tried to listen in once but Uncle Scrooge booted us.”

 

Yes, they were definitely the Duck triplets. Her stomach flipflopped. Thinking about her grandmother being in such close proximity to her was making her uneasy. Steelbeak had stressed that she not make contact and to forget about her. Webby didn’t think it was that simple.

 

“Why don’t we show you around town?” Dewey suggested. He seemed desperate to keep her with them.

 

“Or you could do that and make it a date,” Louie commented and Dewey reddened.

 

“I wasn’t suggesting a date!” he shot back.

 

“Sure sounds like you were,” Louie countered.

 

Huey rolled his eyes at his brothers and then smiled at Webby. Webby smiled shyly back. Maybe while they were showing her where teenagers frequented, she’d stumble upon Lena. It was worth a shot.

 

“Okay,” she said. “We can go for a walk around town. But it’s not a date.”

 

“Told you,” Dewey said.

 

“Not yet,” Louie said, smirking. “Give it a few minutes.”

 

“We’d better pay, but you’re coming with us, right?” Huey asked and she nodded. Their information ought to be better and fresher than whatever FOWL had. Plus, ground surveillance was so important. She could worry about checking in later.

 

\-----  
  
  
  
“She’s here, in town,” Bentina Beakley said, looking up from her laptop. She was sitting near Scrooge McDuck at the dining room table. “I know she is.”

 

“How do you know?” Scrooge asked. “You haven’t seen her for ten years.”

 

“Here,” she said and turned the computer around to face him. The screen showed a grainy camera image of three boys and a girl gathered about a booth. They were getting up to leave and although Bentina wasn’t happy that Webby had made contact with the Duck triplets first, what really worried her was that she had no idea what her granddaughter’s temperament might be like after ten years in captivity. She’d been such a sweet, innocent, loving child. None of that was visible now.

 

“See? She looks like her mother did as a teenager,” Mrs. Beakley continued. “You remember Wren.”

 

“Vaguely,” he said, frowning. “What do you plan to do?”

 

“I’ll keep an eye on her through the cameras,” she responded. “I know FOWL has told her to stay away from us, which means I’ll have to be careful how I approach her. But I’m not letting her slip through my fingers, not again.”

 

“Do you think she remembers you?” he asked and it was a sobering thought.

 

“I don’t know,” she admitted and her heart ached. “But there’s no point in ruminating on it. We’ll deal with that problem as it arises.

 

“I know that she may not be the same child she was ten years ago, but she’s still my granddaughter. I would fight all of FOWL’s agents at once to bring her back.”

 

Scrooge frowned, eying the screen again. “Aye, and that may include Webbigail too.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dewey makes an impression on Webby, Webby second-guesses herself about her FOWL abilities, and Mrs. Beakley obsesses over her granddaughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually really surprised anyone's reading this. I posted this early because I want to wake up to reviews. Also, I don't want to steal Saturday's thunder for when the new ep airs.

She liked the triplets against her better judgment. She wasn’t supposed to trust or like anyone, because everyone could be out to get her. Steelbeak had impressed upon her that everyone was an enemy and everyone had an agenda. Black Heron had told her anyone linked to Scrooge McDuck and Agent 22 was bound to betray her. Webby tried to keep that in mind, but the triplets seemed so genuine, so good, that she had to constantly fight against lowering her guards.

 

It didn’t help that she kept feeling like she ought to know them, that if she hadn’t been kidnapped at age five, she would have. But she wouldn’t have been trained as she had been. She would be weak, a duckling ripe for the taking as she had been at age five. Steelbeak had been insistent on that point. She was only strong and powerful because she’d been trained by FOWL’s best. She could be cold and analytical, assessing a situation within seconds. There was no room in her for warmth or compassion. When she was eight, she’d witnessed Steelbeak murder a SHUSH agent. He’d made her watch, saying that it would be good practice for her. When she’d cried, he’d berated her and then made her watch him kill again and again until she was numb to it.

 

The boys had never had such an upbringing. They were soft and she envied them. Dewey was talking about the places they used to frequent and where the teens went in Duckburg. She was paying attention, nodding at the right times, but her mind kept drifting. Everyone could be a threat. She was carrying weapons, of course; she’d insisted on swinging by her stash hidden behind bushes to secure her knives. The boys probably thought they were decorative.

 

One of them was tipped with poison. It was a paralytic and would permit the victim to speak, just not move. She was to use that on Lena de Spell when she found her. As for the other, it was serrated, designed to maximize pain inflicted and make the victim suffer before perishing. That one was reserved for Magica, assuming Webby could get close enough without Magica sensing her approach or attacking her with magic. Webby was confident, but not cocky. She didn’t assume she’d win in an encounter with the sorceress.

 

Dewey touched her shoulder and she snarled, reaching for her weapons before realizing he’d meant it as innocuous. Her defense was up, however, and she pushed him away.

 

“Don’t touch you. Got it,” Dewey said, looking shaken.

 

“You said you came from everywhere,” Huey said, likewise perturbed. “What did you mean, specifically?”

 

Webby’s eyes narrowed. They were prying and she didn’t appreciate it. They would use the information against her. Of course, they could mean nothing by their questions. However, she didn’t think so. FOWL had taught her otherwise.

 

She stopped, suddenly realizing their destination. This time, she whipped her knife out, the serrated one.

 

“Why are we headed for McDuck Manor?” she snapped, raising the blade threateningly.

 

“We wanted to stop by and ask--” Dewey started, but that was as far as he got. She grabbed him, pressing the side of the blade into his neck. Blood pooled on the knife and the teenager’s eyes grew wide. Louie and Huey stared, aghast.

 

“I’m not going there,” she snapped. “So you can think again.”

 

“Are you Webbigail Vanderquack?” Huey asked with his eyes narrowed. “Mrs. Beakley mentioned that her granddaughter had been kidnapped by FOWL agents and you’ve heard of SHUSH and FOWL. I don’t know how you would unless you were in the spy game too.”

 

He knew too much. She spun about, kicking Dewey to the side, and rounded on the red attired boy. Louie snuck up behind her and she kicked him in the gut, sending him flying too. She wasn’t sure how hard she’d hit him, but he was gasping. He’d brought it on himself, thinking he could catch her unaware.

 

“It was a mistake to come here,” she hissed. She looked up at the imposing manor and knew her grandmother was there. Her grandmother, FOWL’s enemy and one who wouldn’t hesitate to attempt to brainwash her into joining her. Yet something struck her as wrong about that thought. Webby pushed it aside. She hadn’t survived by questioning the situation. She’d survived by doing what she was told and swallowing her objections.

 

“Put the knife down,” Dewey said, holding his hands up as he rose to his feet. He helped Louie back up too and Louie coughed, holding his abdomen. To her irritation, she felt guilty. They seemed like honest, decent boys and she’d lashed out for no reason. No, there was a reason. They were the enemy. The world was against her.

 

Her shoulders sank and then she stiffened them. If she let them live, they’d tell her grandmother and Scrooge McDuck. If she killed them, Scrooge McDuck would want her head. There was no safe way to exit this situation.

 

She supposed she could paralyze them and leave them for Gizmoduck and the police to pick up. All she’d need to do was nick them and they’d collapse at her feet. They wouldn’t pose a substantial threat, even all three of them. But she was reluctant, which was a sign of weakness. She really didn’t want to hurt them.

 

Thoroughly infuriated with herself, she shoved her knife back in its sheath.

 

“Webby,” Huey said, holding his hands up too. All three boys were approaching her and she stood her ground. The last thing she needed to do was show further weakness by retreating. What was wrong with her? In all of those simulations, she’d had no problem killing her target every time. She shouldn’t be faltering now.

 

But they’d been simulations. They hadn’t been real people.

 

“Mrs. Beakley said that if you were alive, you’d be brainwashed,” Huey continued. “That FOWL would’ve convinced you they were right.”

 

While she was tempted to lash out again for that, there was more important information to be had. She worked on mastering herself and trembled, hating the demonstrated distress. Maybe she hadn’t been ready for this mission, no matter what Black Heron and Steelbeak thought.

 

“Why would she tell you so much?” Webby asked, suspicious.

 

“She never forgot about you,” Dewey said. “She kept hoping you’d come home.”

 

“It’s not home,” she countered. Yes, this was a mistake. What she should do, since she couldn’t kill them and she probably shouldn’t poison them, was knock them out. Her heart hammered between her ribs.

 

Granny.

 

No. She was not a child anymore. And she was FOWL’s property, not her grandmother’s. Damn it, she should’ve started at Mount Vesuvius and disabled Magica. She never should’ve come to Duckburg, not without backup. She shoved her hands into her pockets.

 

“But you’re not denying you’re Webbigail Vanderquack,” Huey said softly and she glowered at him.

 

“That’s not who I am anymore,” she told him. “I’m Snow Goose. Webbigail Vanderquack doesn’t exist anymore. And if you’re smart, you’ll let me leave without a fight. If you don’t, it won’t end well for you.”

 

“Calm down,” Louie said. “We’re not going to jump you. And even if we were, you’d kick our asses.”

 

“You’re good kids,” she said. She was the thing that didn’t belong here. Steelbeak was wrong. She was pathetic. They were enemies, albeit belonging to Scrooge McDuck. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to seriously harm them. She didn’t want to. They hadn’t done anything wrong and she couldn’t shake the sense that in another universe, they would’ve been like family.

 

But she didn’t have a family. She had Black Heron, her martial arts’ expert, and Steelbeak, who was technically her father but who would never let her treat him as such.

 

“You’re good too,” Dewey said and Louie shot him a dirty look.

 

“She pulled a knife on us!” Louie cried, outraged. “How can you say that?”

 

“I have a feeling,” Dewey said. “I can tell she’s not who FOWL made her.”

 

She ought to prove him wrong. She ought to attack them and be done with it. Yet her hands were still trembling and she felt faintly ill. If she couldn’t bring herself to disable them, then she needed to disengage. She shouldn’t have made contact with them in the first place. She should have broken it off when she realized they were Ducks, as in Scrooge McDuck’s great-nephews.

 

“Don’t follow me,” she spat and, with a roundhouse kick that bowled them over, she bolted. Dewey got up first and she hissed; he was following her. His phone number on its piece of placemat burned in her pocket.

 

Black Heron and Steelbeak would punish her severely for this failure. Steelbeak didn’t believe in corporal punishment, but Black Heron did. She shuddered, putting on an extra burst of speed and propelling herself up a fire escape, and then, from there, onto a rooftop where Dewey couldn’t follow. Despite the lack of effort on her part, her heart was pounding fiercely. She couldn’t stop herself from staring down at Dewey.

 

“Webby,” he pleaded. “Look, I know we barely know each other, but I can help you.”

 

She searched for something to throw at him to knock him out. A loose brick came to hand, but he could dodge it. Instead, she pulled herself away from the edge and stood in the middle of the rooftop, where he could no longer see her. She was shaking so badly that her teeth were chattering and she collapsed to her knees.

 

Dewey had said she was good. No one had ever said that to her. Sobs threatened to break out and she punched her thigh to stem them. Crying was a weakness. Crying wasn’t allowed. Why was she so upset, anyway? She wasn’t good. She’d been raised to be a villain. Why should some random stranger’s opinion matter so much?

 

His opinion should matter less than her masters’ opinions. She worked on calming her breathing and balled her fists, punching herself repeatedly until she mastered her emotions. Even then, a few tears slipped down.

 

Her secret heart, which she’d suppressed for so long, yearned to talk to the boys again. Yearned to feel normal. She’d struck Dewey for touching her, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been touched in an innocent way instead of as a lesson or punishment. No, she did remember. Faintly. Her grandmother.

 

Webby’s next breath was ragged. She was weak, she was wrong, and she was destined to fail.

 

“Webby?” Dewey said and she jerked her head up. The boy was exiting from the rooftop door and approached her cautiously.

 

“You must have a death wish,” she said, but there was no rancor in it.

 

“Your grandmother never stopped looking for you,” Dewey said, sitting in front of her. “And...I always kinda wanted to know more about you. I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were supposed to know each other.”

 

Webby’s beak twitched but she didn’t respond otherwise.

 

“I’m sorry I startled you,” he said. “I won’t do it again.”

 

Webby couldn’t meet his gaze. She stared at the concrete beneath her boots. Dewey approached, closer now, so close they could touch.

 

“Webby?” he prompted again.

 

“I’m not good,” she said. “You’re wrong. I’m a FOWL agent.”

 

She punched him in the head, not hard enough to give permanent damage, but enough to knock him out. He rocked back on the concrete and then fell; she cushioned the blow to keep him from hitting his head again on the cement. Biting back a gasp, hating herself for having done it, she escaped the roof and left him behind. His brothers could find him later.

 

If she was supposed to disable her enemies, if not kill them outright, then why did it feel out of line? Like she’d miscalculated and made a mistake--like she should have befriended them instead of assaulting them.

 

What was wrong with her?

 

\----  
  
  
  
Bentina Beakley reviewed the security footage again. Dewey had been able to pinpoint where he’d been before Webby had knocked him out. If there had been any doubt before, this had eradicated it. Mrs. Beakley had difficulty reconciling her granddaughter with this teenage girl who had assaulted Dewey and then held his head before his skull cracked against the cement when she knocked him out. There had been an almost tenderness in her movements and she hadn’t missed Webby’s attack of conscience.

 

She stilled the image of her granddaughter fleeing the rooftop and sighed.

 

“You’re torturing yourself, you know,” Scrooge said quietly. They’d been quietly working, him on businesswork and herself on scanning the footage and discerning what she could about FOWL’s operations. The boys were safely ensconced in the living room and watching repeats of Ottoman Empire. Although Webby had given Dewey a concussion, he was otherwise unscathed. Bentina knew Webby hadn’t meant to cause that--if anything, she’d only knocked him out because it was expedient.

 

Her heart ached seeing Webbigail. For years, she’d wondered whether she was deluding herself by thinking that her granddaughter had lived in FOWL’s custody. Now, it was excruciating and reassuring to see her granddaughter alive. She could tell at a glance that Webby was miserable and she yearned to hold her again. But Scrooge was right. Webby wouldn’t return to McDuck Manor without a fight and she would see her grandmother as an enemy operative. It was like another blow to the heart. Webby was all she had left of her family.

 

“I can’t look away,” she confessed. She stiffened. “You kept tabs on Donald even after he stopped speaking to you after the Spear of Selene.”

 

“Aye,” he confirmed. “I never lost track of him.”

 

She bristled, taking his words as a condemnation that she’d lost contact with Webby.

 

“But Donald was much easier to trace,” he added. “He wasn’t being held hostage by a criminal organization.”

 

“I can imagine some of what they told her and I can understand their supposed rationale for it,” she said. It was like a trainwreck. She knew she ought to look away but she couldn’t bring herself to. For the first time in a long time, tears pricked her eyes beholding her granddaughter and knowing she was so close, yet agonizingly out of reach.

 

“But that doesn’t make it any easier to take,” he said, squeezing her shoulder.

 

“You found Della and you brought her home,” Bentina said. “Why can’t I do the same with Webby?”

 

“Della wasn’t brainwashed for ten years into believing we were her enemy and not her family,” he reminded her, albeit quietly, so as not to provoke outrage. She knew he was right.

 

“I believe there is some housework I need to tend to,” she murmured. “Dinner will be ready in a few hours, Mr. McDuck.”

 

“It’s all right,” he said. “I understand what it’s like to lose someone you care about, Bentina.”

 

She nodded. With all due respect, these were two different situations. Della had chosen to steal the ship and leave her boys behind. Webby hadn’t had a choice in the matter. However, she didn’t want to argue with him; he was her employer, after all. Instead, she bowed out, taking the laptop and the screenshot with her. Webby’s still image haunted her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Beakley is lost in reverie about Webby's kidnapping and Dewey employs her help to reach out to Webby. 
> 
> Webby receives an upbraiding from Black Heron regarding her previous behavior and discovers there are security cameras in Duckburg, which means both FOWL and her grandmother have seen her every move. 
> 
> Mrs. Beakley has a brief, one-sided conversation with Webby and Webby kidnaps Lena for FOWL.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sssh, pretend it snows where Duckburg is based. I wanted snow. Sssh. 
> 
> Also, a little bit of a plot device, see if you can spot it. Heh. 
> 
> Currently working on a chapter ahead of this one. It'll be up on the LJ later today or tomorrow.

Mrs. Beakley remembered the day like it was yesterday. She’d turned her back on Webbigail for five minutes and the girl vanished. Webby’s energy meant she’d been running everywhere, excited to be out of the manor for a day. Feeling guilty for acting like every stranger could be Steelbeak’s minion, she’d permitted her to run ahead of her. Then she’d lost sight of her and the next thing she knew, there’d been a note courtesy of an Egghead. Steelbeak had “reclaimed” his daughter. Mrs. Beakley had torn the training park apart trying to find her granddaughter to no avail. Everyone there had either been tipped off or paid off. No one was willing to help her.  
  
And the cops, of course, were a joke.  
  
She’d nearly tendered her resignation that day, out of sheer frustration and fear. She had wanted to spend her life looking for Webby, but Scrooge had managed to talk her out of it. When she was lucky, she didn’t dream about Webby’s disappearance. She wasn’t lucky that often. She pictured how terrified Webby must’ve been, what Steelbeak and Black Heron were doing to her, and what they’d told her about her family. How they were polluting her against her and the world in general. They were filling her granddaughter’s head with poison and there was nothing Bentina could do to stop it.  
  
Dewey remained convinced, despite Webby hitting him in the head, that Webby was a good person deep down. Louie was skeptical and Huey insisted they had no proof to support Dewey’s hypothesis. If she weren’t being so foolish, she might agree with Huey. Might, except Webby had cushioned her blow against Dewey and then cradled his head before letting it slip to the ground. There had been tenderness there that was out of character for a FOWL agent. She refused to believe Webby was beyond redemption. The glimpses she’d had suggested Webby was in there somewhere, albeit buried.  
  
Or what remained of her granddaughter. It might be nothing more than tatters now. Dewey insisted that she could have killed them and chose not to. FOWL wouldn’t take that lightly. Bentina assumed they had someone watching her in Duckburg to ensure she didn’t fail. They would report in soon...and if Steelbeak had any affection for the girl or at least any sense of ownership, he wouldn’t let them hurt her too badly as punishment. Of course, if he really thought little of her, he’d let them do whatever they wished with her.  
  
She’d been digging to see where Webby might be holed up. Scrooge was scouring the underground hideouts, as well as the villainous ones. The police were looking everywhere, albeit in plainclothes to avoid suspicion. She just wanted her granddaughter home. She knew she’d missed so much; she had to repair the damage Steelbeak and Black Heron had done. Webby probably hadn’t known love for the last ten years.  
  
She wished she could approach Webby on her own, but she wouldn’t be able to. She was no longer unknown to FOWL. Still, if Dewey was willing, she might be able to send him after her. That assumed he’d want anything to do with her again. There was a difference between believing someone might be good at heart and putting oneself in harm’s way to prove it.  
  
Part of being a spy was being effective at disguise. She could find a way to change her appearance, assume a role, and perhaps she might go unnoticed by FOWL. Yes, she knew that wasn’t likely, but, oh, she just wanted to talk to Webby.  
  
Tears threatened to roll over again and she sighed. Webby wasn’t the only one wary of showing weakness in the form of weeping.  
  
At least she was alone in her grief. She’d sequestered herself on purpose to prevent any vulnerability from showing. The laptop sat in front of her with Webby’s still image on it and she felt that familiar tightness in her chest that presaged crying. Webby looked so much like her mother.  
  
A hesitant knock came at the door and she startled, inwardly cursing. She worked on making herself presentable and pulled the door open. It was unusual for her to get visitors, beyond Mr. McDuck, and it was even more unusual to discover Dewey Duck standing there, rocking back and forth on his heels. She frowned, contemplative.  
  
“Dewey?” she asked.  
  
“I know, I know, this probably isn’t a great time,” he said. She cast her gaze about, but the other two boys were absent. Either he was doing this without their knowledge or they knew and disapproved. Judging by the furtive glances he shot around the hallway, it was the former. She suppressed another sigh, gestured for him to enter, and then shut the door behind them. She wasn’t pleased that he was in her bedroom nor that her laptop was frozen on Webby’s face, but she would make allowances this once.  
  
“It’s about Webby,” he said and she raised her eyebrows.  
  
“Oh?” she said, concealing anxiety by perpetuating a cold facade. “You have a plan to speak with her that doesn’t involve her knocking you out and leaving you unconscious on a rooftop?”  
  
“She had tears in her eyes,” he said. “She’s upset. Maybe she doesn’t like doing this.”  
  
“An astute observation,” she said and then sighed, shoulders falling. “But hardly useful at this juncture.”  
  
“If I can talk to her, maybe I can get her to open up,” he said.  
  
“She has no reason to open up to you,” she pointed out. “In fact, in light of her training, she has every reason to avoid you. Doubtlessly Steelbeak and Black Heron instructed her to avoid anyone close to Scrooge McDuck or myself. And you, unfortunately, are both.”  
  
“But I want to help,” he said, frustrated. “You didn’t see the look in her eyes. She’s trapped. I can help her.”  
  
“I did see the look in her eyes,” she replied. “That’s what worries me.”  
  
“Maybe we can rescue her,” he pressed.  
  
“Don’t you think I’ve had that same thought for the past ten years?” she replied, keeping the tartness out of her voice with an extreme effort. “I appreciate it, Dewey, but...it’s not just her we have to worry about. It’s her handler.”  
  
“Handler?” he repeated, baffled. “What’s that?”  
  
“Someone who will be keeping an eye on her while she’s in Duckburg, that she’ll be reporting to,” Mrs. Beakley said. “And considering how close she is to the upper echelons of FOWL, I can only think of a few people that would be.”  
  
“So, we get to them first--” he started and she shook her head.  
  
“By the time we find them, they’ll have extracted Webbigail,” she said. “Believe me, I’ve considered that angle.”  
  
“Then what are we supposed to do?” he asked, desperate.  
  
“Wait and see,” she advised. “If we leave enough bread crumbs, perhaps we can convince Webby to come to us.”  
  
\----  
  
“That was pathetic,” a voice hissed behind her and Webby whirled, whipping out her serrated blade. Her heart pounded and she searched the shadows. Black Heron stepped forward, eyes narrowed, and Webby’s heart kicked up another notch. Of the two that had raised her, if one could call her upbringing that, Black Heron was harder on her than Steelbeak. It fit that she’d be her handler.  
  
She could taste her heartbeat, it was pounding so hard.  
  
“You let the boys escape,” Black Heron continued. “You let them escape and they have by now told Scrooge McDuck and Agent 22 about your presence here.”  
  
“What was I supposed to do?” she protested. “I can’t kill them. You told me that I couldn’t do that. You said, and I quote, that I should ‘stay away from anyone related to Scrooge McDuck’.”  
  
“And did you follow my command? No. You didn’t,” she snapped, advancing on Webby. Webby held her ground, although she was trembling. She had no idea how long Black Heron had been watching or what she’d seen. Webby had been so distracted by the triplets that she hadn’t realized she’d had a tail. She was getting sloppy.  
  
“I didn’t realize who they were until it was too late,” Webby pressed.  
  
“Excuses,” Black Heron sniffed. “Are you sure you’re ready for this assignment? Or has Steelbeak overinflated your ego again? You take after him, you know, in the arrogance category.”  
  
“I’m not like him,” she retorted. “And no, you don’t have to take me off the mission. I’ll do it. I got distracted. It won’t happen again.”  
  
“See that it doesn’t,” Black Heron said. “Or your punishment will be so severe you will wish you’d never even heard of Duckburg.”  
  
She advanced on Webby and blasted the wall away a quarter of an inch from the teenager’s face. Even though Webby had shifted to avoid the shot, she could feel the wind of its passing. It had knocked a few feathers off the top of her head. It was no mystery that Black Heron hated her. She resented her even more for being Steelbeak’s offspring.  
  
“Get back to your mission. I won’t tell you again,” Black Heron snapped and then disappeared just as quickly as she’d materialized. Webby’s heartbeat took a while to return to normal. Given the excuse, Black Heron would kill her. She looked at her and saw Agent 22. If she could convince Steelbeak that Webby’s death was for the good of FOWL, then he’d probably have no problem with it.  
  
She hugged herself once she was sure she was alone. She was alone in more ways than one.  
  
The cold night air brushed her hair away from her face and she grimaced. Winter was coming soon and she hadn’t brought much with her. The outfit was supposed to attract attention, not to keep her warm. Plus, she hadn’t been able to book a hotel within Duckburg, since FOWL didn’t want her staying within Scrooge’s reach. That meant she’d have to either figure out a ride out of town or walk. Since they hadn’t given her a lot of money, it looked like she was walking.  
  
Shivering, she bent her head against the wind. She wouldn’t freeze--she’d been exposed to cold temperatures before without proper attire--but it wouldn’t be a pleasant walk. The wind battered at her clothes and raised goosebumps on her arms and legs. Of course her first mission would to be in November when the temperatures dropped and she was wearing flashy clothing.  
  
A streetlamp clicked on above her and it could’ve been a heat sensing lamp, but it also could’ve been tied to the town’s security cameras. She wasn’t sure, which made her suspicious. She didn’t know if someone in town, specifically McDuck Manor, was keeping tabs on her too. Snow swirled around her, darkening her mood further. Flurries. Great.  
  
She’d memorized the town map, but it wasn’t a match for what the locals knew. She’d need to find shelter if the snow fell any faster. Swallowing hard, she looked up and saw McDuck Manor looming in the distance. For a second, she contemplated it, isolated and alone on its peak. Her grandmother was there. Scrooge McDuck and the boys were there too.  
  
She jerked her gaze away and shook her head at herself. McDuck Manor was not a sanctuary. There were no sanctuaries for FOWL agents. There was no quarter given to FOWL agents. Her grandmother was an enemy, not an ally. Hadn’t time with Steelbeak and Black Heron taught her that much? She stiffened her upper beak and swiped at her face. She’d have loved a good, thick pair of mittens right about now.  
  
Dewey’s phone number on its slip seemed to burn through her pocket. She could call for help. No. She was not weak. She was not going to compromise herself and fail FOWL. Black Heron had already shown her the consequences of that.  
  
Underneath the bridge, the snow, ice, and wind were diminished, even if it wasn’t eradicated completely. Duckburg didn’t have a homeless problem, which surprised her, but not overly much. She couldn’t create a fire in this weather, so she sank down and hugged herself. Someone had left a cardboard box, big enough for her to shelter under and avoid the worst of the elements. She shuffled into it and her teeth chattered. She was so cold.  
  
With the box blocking the wind, she pulled out the slip of paper again. Dewey Duck. She was being the worst kind of fool, a sentimental fool. Hugging her knees, she stared ahead. Maybe she was being foolish, but she would’ve loved a heater right now. And maybe...no, she didn’t dare hope more than that.  
  
She prepared herself for a long and miserable night. She probably wouldn’t get much sleep, either, but that was to be expected. She was in enemy territory. She had to stay sharp...though she wouldn’t be very sharp if she didn’t get any rest.  
  
She willed herself to sleep. The cardboard box around her was getting damp and she had her doubts it’d last the night. Plus, if the snow got any worse, she’d end up falling asleep in it. No, this wasn’t a tenable solution. She needed someplace safe from the elements.  
  
Reluctantly casting aside the old fridge box, she assessed her surroundings again. The McDuck Manor was barely visible now and she squashed that odd pang that she felt looking at it. The map had shown her places where Glomgold had real estate that hadn’t sold yet. She could squat in a house. It wouldn’t be the most comfortable, not without heat, but she wouldn’t end up buried beneath a snowdrift, either.  
  
By the time she reached the model houses, she was shivering uncontrollably and she missed the security camera dangling from a lamppost near the first one she broke into. She had no difficulty picking the lock and she looked for the deepest place in the house with the most walls between her and the outside. It was barely warmer in here than it had been outside, but it wasn’t snowing, which was a plus.  
  
She pulled herself into a closet, shut the door, and shuddered, teeth chattering. If it hadn’t snowed, she probably could’ve made it back to her hotel room. She wondered for a second where Black Heron was staying. It wasn’t like the woman would’ve invited her to join her, mind you, but she did wonder where the FOWL agent had gotten off to.  
  
Exhausted, she closed her eyes and collapsed, falling into a troubled sleep. Her hand fisted in her pocket and held Dewey’s note tightly. His face was the last thing she saw before she succumbed to her fatigue.  
  
\----  
  
She woke stiff and cold, though the latter was hardly a surprise. Stretching, she pushed open the closet door and glanced through the vacant living room toward the windows, where she saw snowdrifts as high as her knee. It was unusual to be snowing in Duckburg, considering it was in northern California. They were kinda close to the mountains, though--maybe she’d just forgotten how close since it’d been ten years. And she hadn’t been allowed outside before her abduction...which she guessed might’ve been for the best at the time.  
  
She needed to come up with a plan to convince Lena to join her. If she kept reacting to events instead of instigating them, she’d end up in a worse situation. Webby saw the best in people, or tried to, something that FOWL had done its utmost to squash out of her. She cast her gaze downward, thinking of Black Heron’s disapproval. That’d been toned down, too. The full extent of it wouldn’t be anywhere near as pleasant.  
  
Her only lead was Dewey, who wouldn’t want anything to do with her now. And even if he had, Black Heron had warned her away from him. Webby knew no one else. Sagging, she stared out at the snow. It was dispiriting, both its presence and what it portended. She had no desire to wander out into frigid temperatures again.  
  
If she remained here, she’d be shirking her duty. Pushing herself to her feet, she prepared herself for the bitter blast of wind that nearly bowled her over as she exited the empty house. It was the weekend, so she wouldn’t have to worry about infiltrating a school. Then again, she doubted Lena (or the boys) attended school. They’d probably receive private tutoring in the boys’ case and in Lena’s, she wouldn’t want to announce her presence by appearing too often in public.  
  
She pulled the slip of paper out of her pocket and clutched it tightly to prevent it from flying away in the wind. She’d read it so many times she’d memorized the numbers and knew the feel of the pen’s indent in the place map’s scrap. She could almost imagine him writing it.  
  
He was the first teenager she’d met. FOWL didn’t make it a habit to keep children; she was an exception, but only because of her unique circumstances. She’d grown up lonely. Affection was unheard of and socialization consisted of being trained to fight, poison, and kill. She’d had a favorite death trap before she’d had a favorite color. (It was a pit of spikes, by the way, and then pink).  
  
The paper fluttered in the wind and she held it tighter. The edges rippled, but it stayed put.  
  
She didn’t have a phone. True, everyone nowadays did, but FOWL maintained it was a way for her to be followed, a tracer. It was also a way for them to control her, by preventing her from reaching out to anyone who could help. She’d tried to call her grandmother a few times after her abduction and she’d paid for it.  
  
Shoving the paper back in her pocket and zipping it shut, she surveyed the town. Half of it, or so it seemed, was underdeveloped. McDuck and Glomgold logos were everywhere. She remembered who Glomgold was distantly. He wasn’t important enough to FOWL to merit a dossier. (Darkwing Duck had been, but since he stayed in Saint Canard, he shouldn’t pose a threat).  
  
Arcades were still a thing. Even if she didn’t have money, she could loiter around and avoid the management. She consulted her mental map and headed for the nearest arcade against the bitter wind. Anywhere teens would be today was bound to be indoors, which was a relief for her in her mini-skirt. She shivered.  
  
It took a good twenty minutes to walk there, in which time she was alternatively warm and numb. Her extremities had lost feeling and she stomped her boots on the entrance map. The Duck triplets were gathered around a racing game and a fighting game. To her shock, her target was leaning against the back of another game and teasing Louie. Lena de Spell.  
  
“You’re not supposed to hit the other cars,” Lena said, smirking.  
  
“They’re not supposed to be there,” Louie growled. “The game is glitching out.”  
  
To her vast relief, Dewey appeared all right. He was sitting beside Louie at the racing game and smirking at his brother. She hadn’t realized she’d been worried about him until she saw him again. Now she needed to draw Lena off to the side...she could always knock her out too, but she was reluctant to do so. Besides, this was a public place, not like where she’d attacked Dewey. There were witnesses.  
  
Dewey turned around and cried out in a voice that was oddly excited, “Webby!”  
  
Webby startled, wishing she hadn’t given him her real name now.  
  
“Webby!” Huey and Louie said, the latter crashing his virtual car in a spectacular fashion, complete with flaming wreckage. Webby had only ever seen simulations involving killing and assaults. She was intrigued.  
  
“Okay, I’m missing something here,” Lena said. She looked like an emo child. Then again, Webby looked like a goth chick, minus the fishnets, so she supposed she had no leg to stand on there. Lena had probably chosen her look, at least. Webby couldn’t say that much.  
  
“She’s the girl who pulled a knife on us yesterday and then knocked Dewey out,” Huey explained. “What are you doing here?”  
  
“Looking for Lena de Spell,” Webby said. “And look, there she is.”  
  
She met Dewey’s gaze. “How’s your head?”  
  
“What do you care?” Louie asked sourly, but Dewey ignored him.  
  
“Fine. I saw the security footage,” he said and Webby froze.  
  
“What footage?” she asked, afraid of the answer.  
  
“You cradled my head before you let me fall,” he said. “You kept me from really getting hurt--a villain wouldn’t do that.”  
  
“She was kidnapped by FOWL when she was five,” Huey added. “But Mrs. Beakley and Dewey think there’s good inside of her.”  
  
Lena surveyed her and Webby stared back. The girl was making her heart skip beats and she caught herself before reaching for her blade again. She did not need to repeat the same mistakes.  
  
“I’ve never heard of FOWL,” Lena said. “Is that some sort of bird thing?”  
  
Considering they were ducks, Webby wondered what she was getting at. However, she was more concerned about the footage Dewey had mentioned.  
  
“What security footage?” she repeated.  
  
“Uh…” Dewey faltered, seeming to realize he’d given away more than he should have. She grabbed him by the shirt and as she did so, his fingers brushed against her stomach. She didn’t pay much attention to this.  
  
“ _What security footage_?” she repeated, her voice more dangerous than before.  
  
But it was Louie who answered her.  
  
“There are cameras all over Duckburg,” he said. “Uncle Scrooge and Mrs. Beakley see everything that go on around here.”  
  
Aghast, she released Dewey.  
  
“They know? They’ve seen everything?” she said. She couldn’t keep the quiver from her voice.  
  
“Yeah, but I don’t see what the big deal is,” Dewey replied. He seemed to have taken her grabbing him in his stride.  
  
“If there’s security footage that’s accessible by Scrooge McDuck, then FOWL can access it too,” she moaned. No wonder Black Heron had known what she’d done wrong. Her knees knocked together. If she didn’t hurry up and take her quarry, she was going to be in a shit ton of trouble. By now, Steelbeak had to know of her difficulties and her inability to take a life when she should have. Her stomach roiled.  
  
“Okay, I’m still not seeing the problem,” Dewey said.  
  
“You have to come with me,” Webby hissed, glaring at Lena. “Right now.”  
  
“I don’t have to go anywhere,” Lena countered, hand flying to her amulet. Webby’s likewise flew to her poisoned dagger. “And not with you. I’m hanging out with my friends and I don’t know you. Plus, you already threatened them.”  
  
“I was sent by FOWL to bring you into custody,” Webby said, ignoring Lena’s objections. “FOWL has need of operatives like you.”  
  
“FOWL is an evil organization,” Huey said. “They brainwashed her--that’s what Mrs. Beakley said.”  
  
“Of course she says that,” Webby hissed. “She’s an enemy operative. She has no idea what FOWL does.”  
  
“Think about what FOWL’s done to you,” Dewey said softly. “Do you really want to subject someone else to that?”  
  
Enough. There was no telling whether Steelbeak and Black Heron could see this situation right now and watch her control wavering. She slid the poisoned dagger from its sheath at her hip and grabbed Lena by the right wrist, perhaps a bit more forcefully than necessary. She could feel the other duck’s heartbeat race beneath her fingertips.  
  
Lena grabbed her amulet and Webby sliced the necklace off, cutting her in the process. The poison should work within seconds, but seconds might not be good enough if Lena got off a lucky shot beforehand.  
  
“Webby, don’t,” Dewey pleaded and she hated that she faltered, even for a second. “You don’t want to do this. You’re still a good person, deep down.”  
  
Lena elbowed Webby in the stomach and the knife slid further, slicing a deep gash along Lena’s breastbone. The poison was meant to be used in small doses. Webby had no idea what would happen if she got a larger dose. Webby stumbled backward and Lena collapsed; Webby caught her before she hit the floor.  
  
“Stay away from me,” Webby warned the boys. “I don’t want to have to use this on you.”  
  
Dewey’s phone rang and she glowered. Three against one wasn’t a problem. However, three against one while protecting a hostage was another story. Were the Ducks trained to fight? Louie stepped out from behind the video game apparatus and reached for Lena. Webby yanked her out of his reach. Damn, but the other female duck was heavier than she looked.  
  
“It’s for you,” Dewey said and hit speaker.  
  
“Webby?” her grandmother said and Webby froze, conflicting thoughts and emotions coursing through her. She hadn’t heard Granny’s voice in ten years. It sounded exactly the same.  
  
“Webby, I don’t know what FOWL wants you to do, but you can always come home. We’ll protect you.”  
  
The idea of the triplets protecting her was laughable. Louie took advantage of her hesitation to lunge forward and she kicked him in the stomach hard. Flinging Lena over her shoulder, she ducked and wove through the machines to avoid detection by the other patrons and the arcade’s owners. Dewey was following, the phone held up and her grandmother still talking. She wished he’d leave her alone.  
  
“Webbigail Vanderquack, stop this instant!” Mrs. Beakley ordered. Webby paused, the parental authority in her grandmother’s voice temporarily overriding common sense. Then she growled, shoved open the arcade door, and looked for a getaway vehicle. She pressed a button on her hip; that would summon any hidden FOWL agents to pick her and her quarry up. Now all she needed to do was get away from the triplets.  
  
“You don’t want to do this,” Dewey said, stepping outside too. She envied him his thick winter jacket and gloves.  
  
“It really looks like she does,” Louie groused, holding his stomach. She winced inwardly.  
  
“Think about it,” Huey added. “How fast are you going to be able to run while holding someone? And what will FOWL really do for you if you bring her back? Mrs. Beakley told us about FOWL. They don’t care about you, Webby. They’re using you.”  
  
Extraction shouldn’t be this messy. Her heart hammered against her ribcage for the second time in twenty four hours. Huey was right and she hated it.  
  
“They kidnapped you to punish me,” Mrs. Beakley said. “To prove to me that you weren’t invulnerable and to hurt me for defeating Black Heron all those years ago. They don’t care about you, Webbigail. I’m your family. The boys could be too, if you wanted them to be. You’d have a home. People who care about you and love you.”  
  
Love. Webby’s heart caught in her throat. She heard a car rushing toward their location. It would be there in seconds. Dewey approached her and the car skidded to a stop just as he reached her. A concussive blast knocked the triplets away from her. If she hadn’t been prepared for it, she would’ve been knocked out too. As it was, her head swam and she was unsteady on her feet.  
  
“Good, you can do something right once in a while,” Black Heron growled. “Get in. Now.”  
  
Webby hurried to obey, depositing Lena in the back, and glanced at the boys one last time. She could hear her grandmother’s voice still projecting from the speakerphone.  
  
“Webby, don’t do this.”  
  
“Agent 22?” Black Heron sneered. “Your granddaughter belongs to us now. Don’t even try to call her back. She will never come back.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Webby called to the boys. She threw herself into the car after Lena and Black Heron sneered again before hitting the gas and propelling them far, far away.  
  
“You’re sorry?” Black Heron repeated. “They’re the enemy. You do not apologize to the enemy. I see we’re going to have to have a talk about your priorities before we reach the airport for the second half of your assignment,  _Webbigail_.”  
  
\------  
  
Mrs. Beakley screamed, flinging the phone away from her. It was more emotional than normal and Scrooge stared at her.  
  
“Er, are you all right?” he asked, wary of provoking her further.  
  
She’d been close. So close. Now Webby was slipping through her fingers again. But wait.  
  
“Did Dewey put the tracking device on her?” Scrooge asked.  
  
“If she touched him at all in the last few minutes, then, yes, he did,” she said. “I apologize for my outburst.”  
  
“Not a problem at all, 22,” he said kindly. “We’ll be able to track her now.”  
  
“We’ll wait until she’s back at FOWL HQ,” she said. “SHUSH and I have plans for them.”  
  
And she would storm HQ herself to get her granddaughter back.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Webby discovers the tracking device and discards it, she and Lena have a heart to heart, and Webby tells Dewey where she's headed, thus setting up Mrs. Beakley and SHUSH for a trap.

Webby watched Duckburg recede into the distance. Black Heron had been berating her for the past hour about her failures and inadequacies. Lena had awoken during that time and although the older teenager said nothing, she could feel the heat of her gaze. The worst part was that Black Heron was only warming to her subject. The airport was another hour away and she showed no signs of stopping either the car or her mouth.

 

Webby had confidence in herself, inasmuch as she could handle fights. When it came to other areas, however, she had no self-esteem. Black Heron had spent Webby’s entire childhood tearing her down. Steelbeak only built her up when he needed her ego stroked, but since he was so full of himself, that hadn’t happened very often. So, while Webby might’ve been overconfident, brimming with enthusiasm, and otherwise encouraging in another universe, she wasn’t in this one. She could feel her spirit sink with each insult, although she’d ceased to hear them specifically. It was more a miasma of misery.

 

Black Heron had to finally stop for gas and as soon as she had left the car, Webby’s shoulders sagged. She felt wretched.

 

“And I thought my aunt was bad,” Lena said and Webby glanced at her. She’d almost forgotten the other girl was there.

 

“Does that woman ever shut up?”

 

“She hates me because my granny was her arch-enemy. She’s responsible for Black Heron missing an arm,” Webby said quietly. She knew the story well, as it was one that Black Heron liked to throw in her face. She must’ve mentioned it today, but all the insults and derogatory comments had blurred together.

 

“Huey said you were kidnapped,” Lena said and stared at her. “Kinda ironic.”

 

“I don’t have a choice,” Webby said, staring out the window. The gas tank would be full soon and once it had, this conversation would be over. The brief respite would be over and it’d be back to berating her.

 

“I heard that,” Lena said. “She went on and on about how much she’d like to kill you.”

 

“Yeah, heh,” Webby said. Black Heron was snapping at the pump like it had personally wronged her. Perhaps it had. Webby glanced back at the other girl. The paralytic should’ve worn off by now, but Lena’s stiff posture suggested that it hadn’t. That must’ve been the additional dose. Webby grimaced, guilt gnawing at her. She was going to make such a terrible FOWL operative unless she could wrestle her conscience down and destroy it.

 

The problem with that was that she was afraid of losing what was left of herself. Her secret self, the one she’d been determined to keep from FOWL. She saw Dewey’s face in her head and fought a sigh. She balled her fists. It didn’t matter how Dewey felt about her. She’d never see him again.

 

Forcing herself to relax her fists as Black Heron returned to the car, her hand brushed against a small device pinned to her shirt. Webby glanced down and it blinked red; a tracking device, it had to be. Dewey must’ve tagged her when she’d been in the arcade when she’d grabbed him. That was clever.

 

What she ought to do was rip the device off and throw it out the window. He had to realize she wouldn’t tolerate GPS tracking. Mrs. Beakley must’ve put him up to it. She tugged on her shirt and grimaced; the material would rip before it would yield the electronic. There was no subtle way to extract it.

 

Webby cast her gaze about for scissors or something sharp to cut the device off. Wait. She was an idiot. Reaching down just as Black Heron slid behind the wheel again, she pulled out her serrated blade and hacked the tracker off. Black Heron peeled away and Webby opened the window, tossed the device out, and shut the window again. The bitter cold air slapped her in the face as she did so, which merited more denigration from Black Heron.

 

It was ironic. She’d known Black Heron for ten years but she only knew her by her code name. With Steelbeak, she wasn’t even sure her father had another name.

 

“I get it, you hate her,” Lena interjected while Black Heron was in mid-sentence. “Could you cool it?”

 

“Teenagers,” Black Heron snarled, disgusted. “Give her more of the paralytic agent, Webbigail.”

 

“It’s too dangerous,” Webby objected. “I don’t want to permanently hurt her. And if you injure her, Steelbeak won’t be happy with you.”

 

Black Heron hissed, glowering at the two in her rearview mirror. “Then figure out a way to shut her up, Vanderquack.”

 

To Webby’s immense relief, a barrier rose between the front and back seats and blocked out all sound. While Webby was certain that Heron hadn’t finished insulting her, Webby could no longer hear her. The tension drained out of her and she glanced over at Lena, who was smiling at her. Why was she smiling?

 

“What is it?” she asked.

 

“I’ll be damned. Dewey’s right about you. You really do have a good heart underneath that.”

 

“Too bad it’s gonna get me killed,” Webby muttered.

 

“Why didn’t you take Mrs. Beakley’s offer? She would’ve protected you. And she is your grandmother. Plus, McDuck Manor has mad security. FOWL would never have been able to reach you in there.”

 

“She’s the enemy,” she hissed. “Everything that’s happened to me has been her fault. Why should I trust her?”

 

“No, everything that’s happened is because some idiots held a grudge and decided to punish a kid for it,” Lena countered. “It’s the same thing that happened to me. My aunt decided I was her pawn and used me to get revenge against Scrooge.”

 

Webby gnawed the inside of her cheek. Lena and Dewey had introduced doubts about who she was and what she was doing. It hadn’t helped that she didn’t feel connected to FOWL, only obligated to it. FOWL ruled with fear and control, which, while effective, left her adrift. Her grandmother had mentioned love. Webby hadn’t felt love in years.

 

“The McDuck family actually took me in after I betrayed them,” she continued. “They care about me. And I’m not even family. You are.”

 

Wasn’t Webby supposed to be the one convincing Lena to abandon her morals and join FOWL? How was it that Lena was doing such a good job twisting Webby around? Webby stared at the floor. She could see the airport in the distance. When she left for Mount Vesuvius (or the closest approximate, since she couldn’t exactly land near an active volcano), she would leave Lena in FOWL custody.

 

Dewey’s words echoed in her head.

 

“Think about what FOWL’s done to you. Do you really want to subject someone else to that?”  
  


“How well do you know Dewey?” she blurted and then hated herself for it. What did it matter? She wasn’t going to see Dewey again. Once her mission was over, she’d stay with FOWL. It wasn’t home, but it was the best she could get. She forced herself to look at Lena, who was staring back at her.

 

“Pretty well. Not as well as Louie--I’m the closest to him--but I know he’s a theatre nerd who’s passionate about what he likes. And I know he likes you.”

 

Webby didn’t respond.

 

“He got under your skin, didn’t he?” Lena prompted. “Now you’re questioning what you’ve been told.”

 

Webby wanted to hug herself again. She felt as isolated as she had on that rooftop. Sighing, she rested her forehead against the window. In a few minutes, Lena’s words wouldn’t matter. She’d ascend the ramp to that plane and start the second part of her mission. The next time she saw Lena again, if she did, it would be with Lena as FOWL’s latest weapon.

 

Webby’s stomach jerked violently. Dewey’s words poked at her again. Lena would be as much a prisoner as she was. But FOWL wasn’t that bad, was it? Yes, they were the villains, and yes, they’d kidnapped her from her grandmother, but she wouldn’t be this strong on her own. She wouldn’t be the kind of person they needed, the kind of person she needed to be.

 

“You have a choice,” Lena said. “You can stay here and let them ruin your life. Or you can break away from them and return to your real family.”

 

Too many doubts. Webby huffed. Lena and Dewey were too effective at what they were doing. It was getting irritating. Staring out the window, she thought of the tracker she had abandoned. It would’ve been too easy.

 

“FOWL is my family,” she said.

 

“You don’t believe that. They’re as much your family as Aunt Magica is mine,” Lena scoffed.

 

“Shut up,” Webby snapped. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

 

The car stopped and Black Heron rolled the partition down. She smirked. “Have a nice little chat about your new place in FOWL, girls?”

 

“I’m not helping you,” Lena snapped, folding her arms across her chest. “You can torture me if you want. I don’t care. And Scrooge McDuck will be looking for me.”

 

“Like he was looking for Webbigail?” Black Heron sneered, jumping out of the car and yanking the door open. When Webby didn’t immediately leave the car, she unsnapped her seatbelt and yanked her out bodily. Her mechanical arm pointed its positron gun at her.

 

“That’s what I mean,” Lena said, but she wasn’t talking to Black Heron. She was looking at Webby. “You have a real family waiting for you. You don’t have to do this.”

 

“Of course she does,” Heron said dismissively. She dug into her pocket and produced a small burner phone. “Call us when you land.”

 

Webby turned the phone over in her hands. It was the first time they’d trusted her with one. She had memorized her grandmother’s number, though she’d never dial it. Dewey’s number burned in her pocket. Dewford Duck. She was getting obsessed and that was dangerous.

 

Black Heron manhandled Webby, the gun never far, and shoved her toward the plane.

 

“Call us when you land,” she repeated. “And bring us Magica’s staff. Failure is not an option. Better to let her kill you than return empty-handed.”

 

She sneered and cuffed Webby hard in the back of the head. “Go.”

 

“Webby!” Lena called and Webby glanced back. Their eyes met and for a few seconds, Webby had a half-formed notion of running away from Black Heron, seizing the car, and driving away, back to Duckburg. She didn’t know the way or how to drive a car. And yet, it was tempting, just like McDuck Manor.

 

“Dewey won’t give up on you and neither will I,” Lena called. Webby’s heart did flip-flops.

 

“Shut up,” Black Heron growled, silencing Lena. Shaken, Webby ascended the ramp and entered the plane. The engines were running and she patted her pocket. There was a suitcase in the storage bin above her head--perhaps Black Heron had retrieved her belongings. The pilot, however, was nowhere to be seen.

 

Webby’s fingers trembled when she dialed Dewey’s number.

 

“Hello?” Dewey said, answering on the first ring. That was unusual. She nearly dropped the phone and fumbled with it. When she pressed it back against her ear, she was trembling.

 

“Hi,” Webby said quietly.

 

“Webby!” he cried and the excitement and joy in his voice warmed her. He was close enough to touch or so he felt, his voice in her ear. She felt like she could sink into that warmth, be safe and unblemished.

 

The engines roared and the pilot reappeared. Webby cursed.

 

“I have to go,” she said. “I’ll call you when I get there.”

 

“Get where?” Dewey asked.

 

“Mount Vesuvius,” she said and then wondered what was the point in telling him. FOWL wouldn’t want him there and anyway, there was no proof he could reach her in time. But she didn’t want to give up on him either. Her throat was tight.

 

“I’ll be there,” he promised and she scoffed.

 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she chastised. She hung up and clasped the phone to her. The pilot was giving her a strange look--how much of that had he heard? He was a heron too, possibly related to Black Heron, and he looked suspicious. She offered him a weak smile.

 

“I don’t know who you told,” the pilot snapped. “But we’ll be waiting for them. With guns. Stupid girl.”

 

Webby’s eyes widened. Shit. She should not have told Dewey anything. But...she didn’t want to let him go. He was the first person to look at her and see something other than FOWL’s propaganda. He saw her for her and that was worth a great deal.

 

The pilot suddenly smirked. “Maybe we’ll be lucky. Maybe Agent 22 herself will show up and we can finish off what’s left of your family.”

 

He closed off the pilot’s area and Webby whimpered, horrified by the implications of what she’d done. She was sorry. Sorry she was being a sentimental fool. Sorry she had let herself get pulled into what she thought was normalcy. She wasn’t destined for that. After all this time, she ought to know better.

 

She shut off the burner phone for the time being. It was buzzing and she stopped it mid-vibration. Dewey Duck. Lena de Spell. How had they gotten to her so fast? She groaned, closing her eyes. It was going to be a long flight from California to Italy. She had better get all the rest she could.

 

\----

 

“We have to assume this is a trap,” Mrs. Beakley said, scowling. “That even if Webbigail didn’t intend for it to be, FOWL will have overheard her and plans on establishing a base of operations to thwart us if we attempt to take her back.”

 

She scowled at the tracking device, which had registered their trip to Los Angeles before winking out. Webby must’ve destroyed it. She should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. Webby hadn’t survived being in FOWL for so long by letting obvious traps remain triggered. Still, she was a little disappointed. She had hoped, albeit foolishly, that Webby might want to be saved.

 

“So we shouldn’t go?” Louie asked. He rubbed his stomach, which was sore after Webby had kicked him in the abdomen twice in twenty four hours.

 

“Oh, no, we’re going,” Mrs. Beakley answered. “But perhaps not all of us. And we’re going to need firepower of our own.”

 

“If it’s all the same to you, I don’t want to be a part of this,” Louie said. “Adventuring is one thing and that’s a hard pass for all the times I get hurt. But this is way too dangerous with no chance of reward. I’m out.”

 

“I wasn’t thinking of you,” she said softly. “I was thinking of Dewey.”

 

“You want Dewey to go?” Huey asked, skeptical. “He doesn’t know how to fight and every time he’s come up against her, she’s gotten the better of him.”

 

“She called him,” Mrs. Beakley said. “She wanted to talk to him and she apologized to all three of you.”

 

“Kinda weird for an enemy agent to apologize like that,” Louie remarked, fussing with his cell phone. It was the latest Beaks’ innovation, according to him. Bentina had no idea what that meant, exactly, and didn’t care to find out.

 

“FOWL hasn’t beaten her conscience out of her,” Mrs. Beakley said.

 

“Wait, do you mean literally beaten?” Dewey asked, wincing.

 

“They had better hope not,” she growled. “Because no force on Earth will keep me from hunting them down if they’ve touched a feather on her head.”

 

“So, it’s going to be me, you, and Uncle Scrooge?” Dewey asked.

 

“And a few agents from SHUSH,” she said. “We’re going to need the backup.”

 

“I want to go too,” Huey said and Louie scoffed, looking up.

 

“Why?” he asked.

 

“Because I got to her too,” he said. “We all did. Whatever FOWL said to her can’t hold up against logic.”

 

“And yet, she went back to them anyway,” Louie pointed out.

 

“Because she doesn’t feel like she has a choice,” Dewey argued.

 

Mrs. Beakley nodded, frowning. “I have some calls to make. In the meanwhile, if we can get anywhere near Webby, we need to figure out what to say to her that will have the maximum effect.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Black Heron berates Webby and Mrs. Beakley and Scrooge prepare to confront Webby and FOWL.

Of course, they had to employ the buffoon. His daughter was more capable and she was technically a junior SHUSH agent; she’d also insisted on coming along. At this point, Mrs. Beakley couldn’t gainsay her. After all, her granddaughter was a FOWL agent and they were the same age. If Gosalyn was competent enough to hold her own against FOWL, then she should be able to provide backup. Darkwing Duck, on the other hand, was only along because SHUSH had insisted on it. If she had had her druthers, she wouldn’t have allowed him to come.

  


There were a few other agents besides, ones Bentina knew by sight but not by name. Hopefully, her lack of familiarity with them wouldn’t prove detrimental in the field. She thought she might be worse off with Darkwing Duck as an accomplice--he was unpredictable, which was never something she liked having, either on her side or against her. At least he comprehended the gravity of the situation. Having a daughter Webby’s age had helped in that regard.

  


She wasn’t positive they’d be able to handle an extraction. At best, she might be able to come face to face with Webby. At worst, FOWL would head them off and keep her granddaughter from ever getting near her.

  


She wished Dewey’s presence wasn’t necessary. However, Webby had made a connection with Dewey, which made him important if she was to have any chance at reaching her. Dewey was inexperienced, untrained, and, like Darkwing, unpredictable. She worried for his safety. His impetuousness could hurt him if he wasn’t careful.

  


They were currently en route to Rome, whereupon they would take a ship to Mount Vesuvius. Time was of the essence, especially as Webby had a lead on them and FOWL would be forewarned. Bentina tried to envision what might await them at Mount Vesuvius. Steelbeak would not let his daughter go without a fight.

  


The flight to Italy felt interminable. She was too keyed up to read or relax; she could take something to help her sleep, she supposed, but she wanted her wits about her. Scrooge had come along too, as something of an auxiliary officer, and she hated how calm he was. She kept clutching the armrests and wishing she could break something. Webby had slipped through her fingers twice. Twice, goddamn it.

  


“Hey,” Gosalyn said, breaking her train of thought. “Do you want me to talk to her? You said Dewey had some success. Maybe she has to hear kids her own age?”

  


Bentina frowned. It was true that it was unlikely Webby had had much experience speaking with kids her own age; in all likelihood, other children were banned from FOWL HQ. Webby must’ve grown up terribly alone and then punished for feeling that way. Bentina ground her beak together. Steelbeak wouldn’t appear in person--he seldom did that for these types of missions--but she longed to wrap her hands around his neck.

  


Webbigail was her granddaughter, not Steelbeak’s plaything. It infuriated her how he’d twisted her to suit his purpose, all to punish her and Wren, the latter of whom had disappeared years ago. Webby had never known love and compassion; Steelbeak would never have shown it to her. And Black Heron was bound to hurt her as a way to strike back at Bentina. What kind of upbringing was that for a child?

  


“Perhaps,” she allowed, realizing too much time had elapsed between Gosalyn asking the question and her responding. She kept being lost in reverie.

  


Gosalyn desisted and Bentina stared out the window. There wasn’t much to see and nothing to take her mind off their predicament. Webby could have completed her mission already or be close to it by the time they landed. She might not even be in Italy anymore. They could’ve taken this trip for nothing.

  


She’d tried speaking with Webby over the phone and it’d been a one-way conversation like all of her conversations with Webbigail had been after her abduction. She had to admit she was a little jealous of Dewey for having been able to speak with her. For years, she had burned to hear her granddaughter’s voice. Over time, her memories of her voice had faded and when she tried talking to her, she only heard her own voice echoing back.

  


She glanced at Dewey, who was fussing with his phone. They wouldn’t be able to call anyone from here, not unless they used wifi calling, which she doubted Webby’s burner phone would support. Was it so wrong that she wanted to have a simple conversation with her after all these years? She wanted to bring her home.

  


Scrooge, who was sitting next to her, squeezed her hand. She glanced over at him.

  


“It’ll work out,” he said softly.

  


“You can’t possibly know that,” she scoffed. “She’s already got a headstart on us.”

  


“She’ll wait for Dewey.”

  


“She might not have a choice,” she retorted.

  


Scrooge frowned and she knew, with a sinking feeling, that he didn’t have an argument for that. The thought that they’d have traveled this far, assembled the team for nothing, made her eyes burn. She wished she could be alone, but it was impossible on a plane this size. The only place she could conceivably hide would be the bathroom, which was not created for someone with her dimensions in mind. Huddling on a toilet was also far below her dignity.

  


Mrs. Beakley reviewed what she knew about Magica. Fourteen years prior to Webbigail’s birth, Scrooge had ensnared Magica in his number one dime. After Lena had betrayed the Duck family (after being possessed by Magica), Magica had repaid the favor and trapped Scrooge in his dime. Lena had managed to deflect a blow that would have killed Dewey, which, combined with the triplets and Mrs. Beakley’s own interference, combined to defeat the sorceress. Since then, Magica had resurfaced on occasion, but she had been quiet for the last few years, living on Mount Vesuvius and occasionally receiving Gladstone Gander as her visitor, according to the information Bentina received. While Gladstone was an annoyance, the coupling didn’t pose any significant threat to Scrooge or the McDuck family and therefore could be safely ignored.

  


FOWL probably wanted Magica out of the way, especially if she couldn’t be manipulated into working with them. Webby’s mission was probably as an assassin; after seeing how she’d reacted to the triplets, Bentina doubted Webby could kill anyone. Or, if she did, whether she’d be completely sane afterward. Webby was clinging to a shred of decency and morality. Strip that away and who would her granddaughter be?

  


They were only halfway through the twelve-hour flight and Mrs. Beakley felt like she was going out of her mind. Webby had a three-hour start on them. Of course, it would take her time to traverse the sea to reach Magica and then time to locate her, assuming that the sorceress didn’t already have a read on Webby. There were too many variables.

  


She wished she had something mindless to entertain herself with. Gosalyn and Dewey were on their phones, Darkwing was talking to another SHUSH agent, and Scrooge had pulled out a business newspaper. She had nothing, nothing but time to contemplate how this could all go horribly wrong.

  


\-----

  


The pilot unceremoniously dumped her off the plane as soon as they landed. Webby gathered her belongings to her and prepared to board the ship FOWL had for her. Her heart hammered and she patted her pocket for the phone. She didn’t dare call Dewey or anyone else anymore. FOWL would be on guard and the ship would probably be bristling with agents and weaponry.

  


Had she signed Dewey’s death sentence by calling and telling him where she’d be? What if she’d meant to do that? What if she was sabotaging things to hurt herself and remind herself she was nothing but a FOWL agent? That any affinity for anyone else was a fallacy and she needed to shut that part of her heart out completely?

  


She paced the deck of the ship. It’d take nine hours to reach Mount Vesuvius. Normally, they’d drive, but FOWL wanted to pick up additional supplies and also avoid arousing suspicion by traveling overland. Regardless, it would take the same amount of time.

  


She hugged herself, rubbing her arms for warmth. It was warm in Italy, but she felt chilled to the bone. Her grandmother’s voice imploring her echoed in her ears. Dewey, Lena, and her grandmother--they claimed that FOWL was wrong.

  


“You’re having an attack of conscience, aren’t you?” Black Heron sneered, coming up from behind her. She was standing at the bow of the ship and staring out over the water without really seeing it.

  


“Me? No, of course not,” she lied.

  


“You were always too weak to be a FOWL agent,” Heron said coldly. “You don’t have the stomach for it. You should have killed those Duck boys rather than let them escape. And under no circumstances should you have contacted them after you left Duckburg.”

  


She spun Webby around and slapped her across the face. “Fool. Steelbeak’s sentimentality will be his downfall. When he saw that you were going to wash out, he should have had you killed.”

  


Webby’s insides churned and she blanched. Her cheek stung from where Heron had slapped her and her nerves, already knotted, tied up further. She was apprehensive enough about dealing with Magica without adding this to the mix.

  


“At least you got Lena de Spell,” Heron sneered. “That was the least you could do. Congratulations. You aren’t a complete waste of oxygen.”

  


Webby bristled, balling her fists. “I can handle this mission and I’d do it better without you at my throat.”

  


“You failed to kill twice. Twice, Vanderquack. You know what the price of failure is in FOWL? Execution. The same for traitors. Or are you hoping for death? Because I’d love to grant your wish,” she said.

  


“You told me to leave them alone!” she protested.

  


“But when you saw they were interfering, you should have killed them,” she said, implacable.

  


“It would’ve put Scrooge McDuck after us!”

  


“After you,” she scoffed. “You’re expendable.”

  


Webby bristled again, balling her fists. “That’s not what Steelbeak thinks.”

  


“That’s because you’re Steelbeak’s only heir,” she snorted. “And you’re not even worthy of that much.”

  


She wished she’d go away. Wasn’t it enough that she’d berated her en route to the airport in front of Lena? Why was she pulling this now? Webby’s self-esteem was low enough as it was.

  


“I’m only waiting for you to fail,” Black Heron said and smirked. “It’s the only thing you’re good at.”

  


“I beat all the tests FOWL set for me,” Webby growled. “I did it on my own, without your assistance, or anyone else’s help. I can do this. I know I can.”

  


Black Heron shrugged, unconcerned. “And when your precious grandmother shows up with SHUSH and the cavalry?”

  


“I’ll stop them too,” she said with quiet conviction, more than she actually felt.

  


“You have a new mission,” Black Heron said and smirked. “Kill Agent 22. We’ll handle Magica de Spell. If you can’t kill her, then we’ll kill you.”

  


Sauntering away, Black Heron casually backhanded someone and sent them flying off the ship. Webby’s stomach roiled. There was a world of difference between killing someone she’d never met and killing her only living relative. True, Steelbeak was her father, but it didn’t feel like it most of the time. Could she do it, if push came to shove?

  


She’d have to. It was her life on the line. What choice did she have? She patted her pocket where the phone was. She almost felt like she ought to call and warn the others to stay away, but it was probably too late. They were probably en route too.

  


“Think of it this way,” Black Heron tossed over her shoulder as she walked away. “You’re already halfway there. You’ve lured her right where we want her.”

  


Somehow, that didn’t make Webby feel any better. This was going to be a long and unpleasant boat ride.

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Webby attempts to complete her mission, but things get complicated when Dewey shows up with her grandmother. Webby freaks out in the aftermath of her attempt to fill her mission.

Regardless of whether she was attacking Magica or not, FOWL set up its battle stations on Magica’s home turf. This was sure to bring the sorceress out, if only in indignation over having people camped out on her volcano. Webby didn’t worry about that so much. As they had said, Magica was no longer her concern. No, what worried her was coming up against Agent 22 and defeating her. On the one hand, her grandmother had many more years experience fighting than she did. On the other, her grandmother was older, her reflexes slower. Also, a small part of her was screaming that she didn’t want to kill her.

 

But if she failed in her mission, Black Heron would see her dead. And if Steelbeak intervened, she’d still have an enemy for life, one who would try to murder her whenever the opportunity presented itself. Webby would have to look over her shoulder for the rest of her life. It wasn’t an unfamiliar experience, but being on guard until Black Heron or she died was not a pleasant thought. Then again, what was FOWL if not a bunch of opportunists looking to off each other whenever the circumstances permitted it?

 

FOWL agents kept Webby appraised of the situation, all the while keeping at arm’s length while they went after Magica. Webby’s current task was to wait for Agent 22 and be ready. Since she’d had a three-hour lead, assuming that Dewey had told Agent 22 as soon as Webby had told him, Webby had little to do but wait and stretch, checking her weapons and acquiring new ones. Steelbeak was in favor of overkill; he’d talked to her via telephone, not bothering to materialize in person. While she understood his not being present, she wished he could have been to produce a buffer between her and Black Heron.

 

Like Heron, he disapproved of her actions in Duckburg. Unlike Heron, he hadn’t talked her ear off berating her. Instead, he’d issued cutting remarks designed to reduce whatever slim confidence Webby might have regained in the interim. Dewey’s words repeated in her mind, but it was too late to back down now. FOWL was, for better or worse, her family. Her grandmother was not. Her grandmother hadn’t raised her, after all. As for the Duck boys, they had no reason to be here.

 

Webby settled at a rocky campsite to wait. She hated waiting. After preparing, she had nothing to do but sit around and stare about her. She wasn’t sure what direction Beakley might be coming from and therefore, had to be alert for any and all approaching people. Whatever FOWL had done had at least reduced tourists, because they took one look at their arsenal and fled the way they’d come.

 

Lena had said she had a choice. Did she? She never felt like she did. No matter what Webby did, she always felt hemmed in. FOWL always wanted a piece of her. They owned her, body and soul. She wanted to belong, didn’t she? After all, Steelbeak was her father and that meant FOWL was the family business. But her grandmother was a SHUSH operative or had been. Her mother, too, had worked for SHUSH.

 

Steelbeak claimed that meant her mother was a traitor to SHUSH and that Webby’s true allegiance belonged to FOWL. He said that her mother had made a grave mistake keeping her pregnancy secret from him and that he’d rectified it as soon as he could. If Agent 22 wasn’t strong enough to protect Webby, she didn’t deserve her. And if she wasn’t strong enough for that, then she wasn’t fit for anything else.

 

Stretching out on the bench, she hugged her knees. Her long hair fell on either side of her face and brushed her arms. Love and compassion versus duty and obligation. She didn’t need love, did she? She’d lived without it for so long that it was an afterthought. Yet if that was the case, then why did it linger in her mind? Why were Lena and Dewey so effective at getting under her skin?

 

By all accounts, they shouldn’t be. She ought to be stronger than that. She ought to hone her villainous instincts and disregard the rest. Dewey had said she was good, deep down, and she’d cherished it. She’d cherished it because no one had ever said that to her after her abduction. No one had ever looked at her and seen anything more than a tool before she’d met Dewey.

 

She stared at the ground. He wouldn’t come with Agent 22. He had better not come with Agent 22. Webby would lose her mind if he showed up. Killing her grandmother would take courage and conviction, but if Dewey was there, she’d have to kill him too. The thought of doing both was utterly anguishing. She checked her phone, reviewing what she knew about the Duck family and then Agent 22. No new information surfaced. If she did her job right, the only new information would be an obituary.

 

She could do this. She had trained all her life to take down enemy operatives. Black Heron had wanted Agent 22 dead since before Webby had been hatched. As a matter of fact, Webby had been training for this eventuality almost all her life.

 

Then why did she feel sick to her stomach? Agent 22 had to die. She had long outlived her usefulness--Heron had acquired the formula from her and Agent 22 had barely escaped with her life courtesy of Scrooge McDuck. There was nothing else Agent 22 was required for. The facts were there, black and white, but she couldn’t argue with how ill she felt. She kept envisioning ways she could kill her grandmother and every time, bile burned her throat.

 

It was more than fear. It was a weakness, the worst yet. Agent 22 would try to talk to her and convince her to leave FOWL. It was impossible. Webby wouldn’t be free until either she or Agent 22 died. Or Black Heron and Steelbeak. Despair swept over her and she choked back a sob that thankfully no one was there to hear.

 

Dewey had seen the tears in her eyes before she’d knocked him out. She hugged her knees tighter to her chest. Working at steadying her breathing, she almost missed spying the newcomers. She lifted her head and spied, in the distance, a large group that was assuredly not tourists.

 

She scanned the group. Now she really thought she’d be sick. She saw Dewey’s trademark blue outfit and prayed she was mistaken. Hoping they hadn’t noticed her yet, she ducked behind a bush and threw up in her mouth. She spat it out and trembled, swallowing back a sob. No, she was stronger than this. And if FOWL needed her to kill the extraneous baggage, then she would.

 

She ought to be proud. SHUSH had sent far more people than she had expected. Of course, the other FOWL agents had noticed their approach by now and started targeting them. Gunshots rang out and bombs flew. Webby straightened and saw the SHUSH agents disperse, providing smaller targets. Agent 22 was dragging Dewey along and no, Webby hadn’t been mistaken. It was definitely him.

 

Fuck. Fuck. She didn’t want him here. She would have to kill him and Agent 22. She’d also spied Darkwing Duck in the mix; how many SHUSH agents would she have to kill today? Dewey and Agent 22 were her loose ends. Darkwing Duck and his daughter Quiverwing were another story. She held her ground and then, ignoring how her stomach roiled, advanced toward the group. FOWL agents didn’t target her, but they didn’t bother to change their weapons’ trajectories, either. Bullets and bombs flew over her head and around her.

 

Agent 22 was advancing too, with Dewey, and Webby closed her eyes for a few seconds as if when she reopened them, the scene might change. It didn’t. She reached for the handgun she’d grabbed and strapped to her hip. Her hands shook as she turned the safety off.

 

“That’s far enough,” she said and winced. Her voice was trembling too. Dewey halted and she fumbled, nearly dropping the gun. No loose ends. She had to kill him.

 

“Webbigail!” Agent 22 said and Webby sneered, injecting her voice with confidence she didn’t feel.

 

“Agent 22,” she said coldly. “Granny.”

 

“Put the gun down, Webby,” her grandmother said softly. It was just the two of them versus her. The odds were laughable. It was the first time she’d come face to face with her grandmother in ten years and she looked and sounded the same. Webby’s stomach jerked so hard that it felt like someone had socked her in the gut or someone had shoved shrapnel in there.

 

“You can’t shoot us,” Dewey said, sounding incredulous. Behind her, she heard the gunfire and then saw green bolts light up the sky. They must’ve engaged Magica by now.

 

Her eyes met Dewey’s and what she saw there stabbed her in the heart. He was so earnest, so honest, so good. He would be her undoing. She had to...she couldn’t...if she had meant to kill him, he would’ve been dead by now. Her hesitation was going to kill her.

 

But if she disabled him, Agent 22 would have to either pursue her or treat Dewey. She knew her grandmother had come here for her and Dewey was incidental. Perhaps he’d bleed out and then she wouldn’t have directly killed him. She coughed, swallowing back more bile. She was scared, she was sick to her stomach, and her hands shook so badly it was amazing she could hold the gun.

 

“Webbigail,” Agent 22 said. “Put the gun down.”

 

Webby shook her head and pulled the trigger. It was deafening; she’d aimed for Dewey’s right leg to prevent him from running after her. It was the lower half of his leg, though, not the femoral artery. She didn’t really want him to bleed to death. Then, throwing the gun aside, she bolted, heading into the fray and daring her grandmother to follow her.

 

\----  
  
  
  
“Do you want to tell her that the gun wasn’t loaded or should I?” Dewey said, watching Webby flee into the chaos. When the gun had gone off, he’d flinched instinctively, but nothing had happened. Webby must’ve convinced herself that she’d shot him and then ran. It wasn’t her fault--she seemed to be running on pure nerves right now.

 

“She’s petrified,” Mrs. Beakley said, sighing. “FOWL must have changed the mission. She’s here to kill us, not Magica.

 

“She has to come back for us,” she said. “But she doesn’t want to. I don’t know what the penalty is for failing her mission, but the consequences can’t be good.”

 

Without another word, she bolted after her granddaughter with Dewey behind her. His longer legs meant he gained a few feet on her and they could just barely see Webby whip around the corner of the gift shop. Dewey collided hard with Webby and tackled her to the ground. Webby pushed herself away and her eyes were wide, her breathing shallow.

 

“Why won’t you leave me alone?” she screamed. “I shot you, damn it!”

 

“There weren’t any bullets in the gun,” he said. “You didn’t notice?”

 

She cursed.

 

“You know, I’m starting to think you couldn’t kill me even if you really wanted to,” he teased and she growled, punching him in the face.

 

“Ow, but okay, you can hit me,” he said, holding his sore jaw. He was straddling her and her gaze flicked from where he was on top of her to his face. She probably didn’t have a lot of people that close to her. Her breathing was shallow.

 

“Aren’t you supposed to kill me, though?” he said.

 

“Dewey, don’t bait her,” Mrs. Beakley said and Webby shifted, pulling herself out from under him and pulling out a dagger. The older female duck materialized behind them and Webby watched her carefully.

 

“Webbigail, I don’t know what they’ve said to you, though I can guess,” she said. “None of it was true. I swear it.”

 

“Don’t act like you know me,” Webby retorted. “I’m a FOWL agent, not a weak SHUSH operative.”

 

“I know enough from what Dewey has told me and what I’ve seen around Duckburg,” Mrs. Beakley answered. “You’re not a FOWL agent, not truly. You’re confused. I understand.”

 

Webby’s eyes narrowed and she threw the dagger at Mrs. Beakley’s chest. The older duck batted it away, but Webby had thrown the blade as a diversion. She flung herself at her grandmother and Mrs. Beakley was on the defensive, fending off her granddaughter’s blows. Webby growled, frustrated that her grandmother wouldn’t attack her, only defend herself.

 

“I won’t hurt you,” Mrs. Beakley said. “I refuse to fight.”

 

“FOWL wants me to kill you,” Webby answered. “You’re going to lay down and take it? Steelbeak is right. You are weak.”

 

“I refuse to fight my granddaughter, whom I love despite not having seen her for ten years,” she answered and continued parrying her blows. Webby hissed, ducking below her guards and feinting right only to punch Mrs. Beakley in the stomach. Mrs. Beakley responded by twisting Webby around and holding an arm around her throat.

 

Webby froze and then stepped down hard on her grandmother’s webbed foot. Mrs. Beakley released her and Webby countered by punching her in the bill.

 

“Webby,” Dewey said, running up behind her and trying to grab her.

 

“Dewey, don’t interfere!” Mrs. Beakley scolded and Webby spun about, delivering another roundhouse kick that knocked him off his feet. Satisfied he wasn’t going to jump back in, she swept her grandmother’s feet out from under her too and Mrs. Beakley rolled, springing back up.

 

“I was sent to kill you,” Webby snapped to her grandmother. “And you walked right into the trap.”

 

“I knew it was a trap,” she answered. “I went willingly.”

 

“Because you were a fool.”

 

“Because I love you and I want to bring you home.”

 

“Stop saying that!” Webby growled. “Stop trying to manipulate me!”

 

“How sad is it that you can’t tell the difference between affection and manipulation?” Mrs. Beakley said softly. “Or do you think they’re one and the same?”

 

Webby faltered again and Dewey saw how badly she was shaking. He could tell that, with every fiber of her being, she didn’t want to do this. She had somehow convinced herself that it was necessary, maybe her conscious mind, but her body language told another story. Her beak quivered like she was suppressing a sob.

 

“You let them take me,” Webby accused.

 

“I know,” she said softly. “I never forgave myself for it. I let you get ahead of me and they abducted you. It was my fault.”

 

Webby stepped back and reached for the other dagger. Mrs. Beakley assumed a defensive position and Webby launched herself at her again. This time, Mrs. Beakley could easily parry Webby’s strokes. One of her blows sliced a neat line along her grandmother’s arm. Webby was crying, her vision blurred by tears, and she swallowed hard, scrubbing at her face.

 

“I have to kill you,” she said at last. “If I don’t kill you, they’ll kill me.”

 

“You have another option. You can come back with us. We’ll protect you.”

 

“It’s too late for that,” Webby said and smiled humorlessly. “You let the blade nick you. It’s a different poison than the one I had for Lena. That was just a paralytic.

 

“I’m sorry, Granny. But you can’t protect me.”

 

She sprang to her feet and ran away. This time, Dewey let her. Mrs. Beakley looked like she wanted to pursue her again, but her legs gave out from under her. Dewey’s heart lurched into his throat.

 

“She didn’t seriously poison you, did he?” he asked, aghast.

 

Mrs. Beakley’s eyes rolled up in her head and she collapsed.

 

“She seriously poisoned you…” he said and grabbed his phone. They needed help as soon as possible. He didn’t know what Webby had given her, but he was willing to bet she wasn’t playing around anymore.

 

Why hadn’t they been enough to convince her? Was her brainwashing that deep? He’d thought they’d reached her.

 

And she kept running away as if by running, she could outdistance her doubts and worries. That didn’t work. He knew from experience.

 

“Webs…” he breathed. He waited for Scrooge to answer and, once he had, he filled him in. To his consternation, tears filled his eyes too. He had wanted so badly for Webby to be convinced, to come back with them.

 

Why weren’t they enough?

 

\----

 

Webby found an isolated cavern and fell to her knees. Sobbing, she rocked back and forth. Had she proved herself to FOWL yet? Did the monster they wanted finally match her insides?

 

Maybe her grandmother wouldn’t die. There was hope for that, albeit slim. Webby hadn’t been messing around with poisons this time. She breathed hard, balling her fists.

 

She hated herself. She had probably sabotaged her one chance at happiness and for what? Brownie points? She pressed her face into her knees.

 

What would her mother think of her now? Steelbeak and Black Heron would be pleased. Webby curled into a ball and stared out without seeing. She let the sounds surrounding her to envelope her so she wouldn’t have to think about what she’d just done.


	7. Half of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Beakley survives a near-lethal poisoning, Webby discovers she really doesn't want to work with FOWL anymore, and Scrooge decides to toy with Webby's emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Combined two entries for this long chapter. Also, did you know you can no longer select text on ff.net? I did not know that until just now.

Mrs. Beakley tossed and turned on the gurney; Dewey had gotten the other SHUSH agents there in time, but they had needed to withdraw. Webby had disappeared and their objective had failed. It was a loss either way, and Mrs. Beakley would need to be monitored closely. They still didn't know what had poisoned her, but it didn't seem to be fast acting. Her occasional gasps unnerved Dewey and had sobered the rest of them. Dewey feared it meant organ failure.

They had huddled on the plane back and Dewey stared at his phone. Had this been a trick? Had Webby intended for them to suffer losses and end up retreating? Was she really working for FOWL and that glimpse he'd seen of her was just good acting? She'd poisoned her grandmother, which argued that it was, but she hadn't given her an instant death poison, which either meant she wanted Beakley to suffer or she didn't want her to die and was hoping someone would produce an antidote in time.

He'd seen the tears in her eyes. Why was she doing this? What could she hope to gain from it? She wasn't evil. He remained convinced of that. Whatever she was, however, could be malicious enough that it didn't matter. He sighed, resting his head against the window.

It reminded him of a line in a book he'd read a while back. "Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same." He felt that way about Webby. She was a kindred spirit, but he couldn't prove it. He couldn't do anything about it. Damn it, why hadn't she come with them? She should be here, on this plane, talking to him and her grandmother. Not...wherever she'd gone after she'd fled.

That was another thing. Why had she attacked Mrs. Beakley and then run away? If she were really a FOWL agent, wouldn't she have wanted to see if the poison took? He groaned, pulling at his face. He had no idea what she was playing at.

Gosalyn sat next to him and poked at him. He ignored her. Instead, he stared down at his called list; Webby's number came up as "restricted", which didn't help. Nonetheless, his finger hovered over the redial button. He didn't know what would happen if you tried to redial a restricted number. Would it go through? Or not?

A quick Google search told him dialing *69 would redial it, but not yield the phone number. He couldn't risk calling her in the air, despite how badly he wanted to know the answers to his questions.

His brothers would think he was being stupid and maybe he was. Maybe he ought to give up on this. But Webby...he had the feeling he should have known her. That he should've been close to her. He released a jagged breath. He couldn't give up on her.

She could have given up on herself. Maybe that was the answer. Maybe her tears had been the result of releasing the last bit of decency she'd had left before slicing at her grandmother. He sighed, unable or unwilling to stow the phone. They'd been so close, so agonizingly close.

Webs…

What had they done wrong? Would they be able to find her a second time? She wasn't going to call him and tell him where FOWL HQ was. That was beyond ridiculous. What if they never saw her again? What if he'd lost his chance? It was so cheesy to say that he thought they were linked, but it was true. She'd looked like he'd run her over with an 18 wheeler when he'd materialized earlier.

Damn it, stupid plane. He couldn't wait another seven hours to call her. Unfortunately, Launchpad was refusing to stop the Sunchaser. Dewey groaned, ignoring the "in-flight entertainment", which consisted of Darkwing Duck, despite the actual Darkwing Duck being present. He'd tuned both out when Darkwing had gone on about how the show hadn't gotten everything right and that his father had been much more heroic and handsome (because clearly, Darkwing took after his father there, according to him).

Gosalyn occasionally interjected and he tuned her out as well.

"Lad?" Scrooge asked and Dewey looked up at him. "Fiddling with your phone?"

"I want to talk to Webby. I want to ask her why she did this," he said, anguished. "And why she keeps running away from us."

"I should think the answer to that is obvious," Scrooge said. "She's afraid to stay put. All she's ever done since you've met her is run away."

"I know. And it's so frustrating," Dewey complained.

"You've seen her vulnerable, which is something FOWL likes to believe never happens," he responded. "You know there's more to her than her appearance, which means you threaten her way of life, and she can't tolerate that."

Dewey glanced down at the phone. "I don't even know her and I think I have feelings for her."

He looked back up. "Was that how you felt about Goldie?"

"Aye, it was…" Scrooge said. "Let's hope you have a better ending than Goldie and I did."

"I know I could make her happy. All I've seen her be is miserable," he protested. "Why would she go back to them when they're abusive, cruel, and manipulative? They've hurt her. I know they have."

"Don't repeat that in front of Mrs. Beakley when she wakes up," he warned. "She'll be in a delicate state for a while. If she finds out that they've been physically harming Webbigail, it may be too much for her to handle."

Dewey grimaced and gritted his teeth. "I want to help her. Why doesn't she see that?"

"Because she's terrified of what that help means," he responded. "She knows this isn't right, but if she accepts that, she'll have to accept everything else."

It was more than that he thought he had feelings for her. He thought he was falling for her, which was ridiculous considering how much she'd hit him. Then again, the blow to the head could've contributed to that. Or perhaps he remained convinced in her goodness.

"If I tell her how I feel…" Dewey began and Scrooge shook his head.

"Won't do any good," he replied. "She won't listen to reason. She has to come to the answer on her own."

He cast a glance over at Mrs. Beakley. "As much as I hate to say it, thinking that her grandmother is dead by her hand might force her to reassess the situation. I hope it doesn't come to pass; it's worth it to make her think that, though. She'll have to come face to face with how she really feels about FOWL and her options."

"What if she decides she's happy that her grandmother is dead?" he persisted.

"Do you have faith in her?" Scrooge asked. "Really think about that answer, lad. Do you believe she'll make the right choice?"

Dewey's first response was to say "no", but he stopped himself and thought about it. He looked up at his great-uncle.

"Do you, lad?" he asked softly.

"She'll make a decision," Dewey said finally. "And in my heart, I believe it'll be the right one. It's just my head that doesn't agree."

"We'll see if Webbigail makes the next decision with her head or her heart. It could be the difference between life and death for more than one person," Scrooge said and sighed.

* * *

At least one agent had vouched for her that she'd struck Agent 22 down. This agent was probably more afraid of Steelbeak than cared about Webby, but she'd take it. Black Heron congratulated her on doing something right, even if she'd let Dewey live, and Webby ignored the accolades and cheers that came her way. She sat on the plane and stared out the window. This ought to be the highlight of her nascent criminal career. She ought to be celebrating with them.

Instead, she wanted to curl into a ball and sob as she had in the cavern. She should have shot Dewey; she should have put bullets in that damn gun. Then there would be no more loose ends. She ought to be happy about that too.

Webby excused herself to huddle in the bathroom. With the partying going on around her, wine bottles being popped open and music blaring, no one could hear her cry. She locked the bathroom door just in case anyone got any bright ideas about intruding. She found, however, that once she'd started crying, she couldn't stop. Her shoulders shook with sobs and she tasted tears in her mouth. She'd come thisclose to killing Dewey and had in all likelihood murdered her grandmother.

It shouldn't bother her so much. This was what she'd trained for all her life.

She was going to sit here, let it all out, and then lock away her secret heart.

I'll destroy this useless heart. I'll fuck it up so it'll never beat again. Not just for me, but for anyone…

After all, she was a FOWL agent through and through. Today she'd proven that. FOWL owned her body and soul and she needed to accept that. She rocked back and forth in a vain attempt to console herself. FOWL owned her and she hadn't a friend in the world. Once Lena discovered what she'd done, she'd distance herself too (not that she could really call Lena a friend when she'd kidnapped her and they barely knew each other).

When she'd cried herself out, she composed herself and joined the party. She didn't partake in the drinking or the illegal substances that were going around. She didn't even glance around to see if they'd killed Magica and taken her staff. Instead, pretending that the rest of FOWL didn't exist, she opened up a book and tried to read.

It was going to be a long flight back to FOWL HQ.

* * *

Steelbeak called Webby into his office as soon as they reached FOWL HQ. He grinned at her and she wished she could feel something, some sense of accomplishment. Instead, she felt empty. To push away her emotions, including her horror at what she'd done, she'd forced herself to become numb. They were still partying in FOWL HQ because Agent 22 had been legendary.

"So you finally killed Agent 22," Steelbeak said. "I'm impressed."

"Thank you," she said automatically. She'd scrubbed at her face best as she could to conceal the tear tracks. Of her red eyes, she couldn't do as much. Steelbeak scrutinized her and then moved around from behind the desk to lay a hand on her shoulder. She watched him, wary.

"You're really my daughter," he said and then pulled her into a tight hug. She went rigid in his arms.

"Hey, hey," he said and patted her cheek. "Don't be like that. I'm proud of you. You're a chip off the old 'beak."

He frowned. "Is something bugging you?"

She shook her head. The last person she wanted to get into this with was Steelbeak. She had no one to confide in. By now, she should've been used to it. After all, this was to be her fate in life.

Her burner phone and Dewey's phone number were still in her pocket. Somehow, she'd forgotten to throw them out. She hadn't turned the phone back on since the mishap at Mount Vesuvius. Had Dewey called her? Or was he disgusted with her too? Her shoulders sank.

"I'm your father," Steelbeak said, holding her at arm's length. "You can tell me anything."

That was new. Again, she shook her head.

"Take some time off," he said and patted her on the shoulder. "Take a brief vacation. We'll see you back here in a week."

This was probably an attempt to keep Lena away from her more than true generosity, but she nodded anyway. He hugged her again (which wasn't warm or affectionate, just weird). Her grandmother's words reverberated in her mind. Steelbeak didn't really love her. He was manipulating her. The only person who might've loved her, who had admitted to it, was dead by her hands.

She was disgusting. The sheer amount of self-loathing she had was almost overwhelming. Steelbeak dismissed her and she walked out hearing her grandmother in her mind. At least with her numbness, she couldn't feel the true extent of her self-hatred and misery. She felt an urge to cry surfacing again and swallowed it back. Crying was for the weak. She ought to embrace what she'd done.

Dewey hated her now. How could he not? And that would've stung more if she could feel it.

Once she was alone in her room, she turned the phone back on. To her surprise, there were voicemails left, all from Dewey. He had *69ed her and left no less than five messages. As she stared, the phone vibrated and she looked at it like it was a live snake. Cautiously, she answered.

"Hello?"

"Webby!" Dewey exclaimed and his voice was like a jab to the gut. Her room was austere, containing a few books she'd smuggled in, her bed, her wardrobe, a desk, and a mirror. There was nothing personal about it-nothing personal was allowed. So she hid her charts and boards inside the desk's hidden drawer.

"Why are you calling me?" she asked dully. "I shot at you and I killed...I killed…"

Her throat closed up and she shook her head. She couldn't utter the words aloud. Balling her fists, she worked on calming her breathing. Why was Dewey calling her? Why had he left all those voicemails? She hadn't had a chance to listen to them but they couldn't be anything good. If anything, he would be condemning her for her actions.

"Did she die?" she burst out and then choked back a dry sob. She wasn't sure which answer she was hoping for. If Agent 22 was still alive, she'd be in trouble. If she wasn't, then her grandmother was her first official kill. Neither sat well with her.

"Are you okay?"

"Am I okay?" she asked and was surprised by the hysterical laughter that burned her throat. "Why are you asking me that? Why are you even talking to me, Dewey Duck? Haven't you learned your lesson by now?"

"If you didn't want to talk to me, you wouldn't have answered," he said implacably.

"You're not answering my questions," she snapped. There would've been more anger in it if she could feel it. To her surprise, she was gripping the phone tightly. The memory of Dewey on top of her brought warmth to her cheeks. If she'd been raised by her grandmother, she would have done so many things differently. She leaned up against her bed and sank to the floor. Her eyes were red and her head hurt from crying.

"Webs…" he said softly, imploringly. "You wanted to talk to me. You still want to talk to me. I know."

"What?" she said, feeling stupid. "Did you just call me 'Webs'?"

"Yeah," he said. "I thought maybe you could use a new nickname."

She hugged her knees with one arm, the other hand still holding the phone. What was she doing? What she ought to do was hang up and go on with her life. What was left of it, that was.

"Why did you leave me five voicemails?" she demanded. "And you still haven't told me why you're calling me."

"Did you really mean to kill your grandmother?"

The words fell heavily between them and she contemplated hanging up. In the end, she didn't. She stared ahead of her with that dull gaze and felt tears prick her eyes. So much for having cried herself out. Dewey wasn't calling because he wanted to talk to her. He wanted to yell at her. While she understood it, she was disappointed. Like everyone else, he only wanted her as far as what he could get out of her.

She felt like she'd been beaten and left on the ground only for someone to kick her in the ribs. She didn't answer for the longest time. She'd thought Dewey was different. Everyone was the same. How foolish of her to think otherwise.

Beneath her numb exterior, she felt certain that this would hurt all the more when she let herself feel it.

"Webs? Are you still there?"

"What are you doing?" she heard Huey demand. At least, she thought it was Huey. She hadn't had time to commit their voices to memory and figure out which voice went with which triplet.

"Nothing," Dewey lied.

"You're talking to her, aren't you?" Huey pressed.

"Nuh-uh."

"You really need to learn how to lie better," Louie scoffed. "Put her on speaker."

A fourth voice joined in, older and more distinguished. It had a Scottish brogue and although she'd never met the voice's owner, or, rather, she had so long ago she'd forgotten it, she knew who it was. Her insides went cold. Scrooge McDuck. He was Agent 22's partner in crime and the richest duck in the world. Her finger hovered over the "disconnect" icon.

"Webbigail, a word?" Scrooge said.

To her consternation, though she hadn't said anything to him in years, she blurted, "Mr. McDuck?"

"You poison your granny and you still call me that…" Scrooge mused. "Lads, I'll take it from here."

The boys protested and he overrode them. The line went silent for a while, but the call remained connected. Just when the waiting grew unbearable, Scrooge spoke again.

"Your grandmother never stopped looking for you. For ten years, she looked for you only for you to turn up on her doorstep. And you repay that by acting as FOWL's stooge."

Webby's lower beak quivered and she opened her mouth but didn't trust herself to speak without sobbing. She was weak. She was pathetic. In no way was she fit to be a FOWL agent, if this was her reaction to Agent 22's death.

 _"Home_ ," her grandmother had said.  _"Come home."_

"Did she die?" Webby's voice was thin and tremulous.

"What do you care?" he said bluntly. "You were aiming to kill her!"

"Is she dead?" she demanded in a breathless voice. She had to know.

"You betrayed her, Webbigail. She only wanted to bring you home. She loved you."

"Is she dead?" she repeated. She couldn't help but notice how Scrooge was using past tense. Her stomach jerked violently and she swallowed back bile. She hadn't eaten anything since she'd thrown up in the cave after poisoning her grandmother. She didn't trust herself to keep it down. Now her stomach threatened to dry heave again.

The line went dead and when she tried redialing, frantic, it went straight to voicemail. Hand shaking, she put the phone back down. Was that her answer? Had he disconnected on purpose to send her a message?

She pushed herself onto the bed and then lay there, on her stomach, face buried in the pillows. She glanced up, once, to hit play on her voicemails. Dewey's voice filled the room and she knew that if Scrooge had hung up on her, it would be the last time she'd ever hear his great-nephew again. She replayed the messages until the words lost all meaning and she was just lying in the dark, listening to her last hope vanishing.

* * *

"Blasted phone!" Scrooge snarled, looking back at the screen. Though it worked differently from his, as his was an old-style flip phone, he knew enough to hit the redial button. The call could not be completed at this time. Scrooge growled.

He snapped at an empty room, as he'd forced the triplets to remain behind and locked his office door. Webby had sounded broken on the other end. His stomach clenched remembering it. The blasted phone's timing could not have been worse.

He wasn't sure whether he would have told her the truth, but he would have told her something. And now the phone call wasn't going through. Their only means of communicating with her and it was mercurial, like FOWL itself. He hissed and his desk phone rang.

"Mr. McDuck?" Bentina said and Scrooge released a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. Mrs. Beakley sounded worn to the dregs and weak, but she was undoubtedly alive. Webby hadn't killed her. She might not have even intended to. The poison had certainly been slow acting enough for them to use a purgative in time.

"You should be resting," he reprimanded. He paused and then added, "I'm glad to hear you're all right, Bentina."

"Have you spoken to Webby?" she said and he realized this was the reason for her call. He wasn't offended. He wasn't even surprised.

"Aye," he said. "And then the phone cut out. She thinks you're dead, Bentina."

"You let her think that?" Mrs. Beakley snapped. "Why on earth did you do that? This is going to eat her alive!"

"I didn't have a chance to say more-as I said, the phone cut out," he said.

She sighed, aggravated. "Can you call her back?"

"It hasn't been going through," he said. "FOWL may be jamming the signal."

Mrs. Beakley cursed, which was both impressive and worrying because he could count on one hand with fingers left over how many times she'd cursed in front of him. With Webby's phone out of commission, they had lost their only way of speaking with her, a fact that was not lost on either of them. Webby might as well have been on the moon for all the good this was doing them. Not even the moon-they had eventually rescued Della from the moon. This was ten long years of radio silence.

"No tracking device, no phone number, the line is jammed…" Mrs. Beakley said, echoing his thoughts. "She's vanished off the face of the earth again."

"Not unless we construct a trap for them…" Scrooge mused and then halted. "That might be it. If we can construct a trap that FOWL can't refuse and that requires Webbigail's assistance...we might be able to lure her to us."

Mrs. Beakley stifled a yawn and he grimaced, feeling sorry for her. "I'll think about it while you get some sleep."

"If Webby calls, call me back immediately," she said. "I don't care if I'm sleeping. I'll wake myself up for her."

"Aye," he said and they said their goodbyes. He doubted Webby was capable of getting through that signal jammer any time soon. Of course, if she left FOWL HQ, if they let her leave, then that was another story. If they thought Agent 22 was dead, they might relax their guard. They probably reasoned that Scrooge wouldn't want Webby, as she wasn't his responsibility. Yes, the more he thought about it, the more likely it'd be that they'd let Webby off her leash, at least for the time being.

But how to get her here, back in Duckburg? How could you lure someone when you didn't know where they were or how to get in contact with them? Hmm. Well, he was the richest duck in the world. He had the resources on hand. He just needed to construct a decent plan.

* * *

"I won't help you," Lena growled as FOWL scientists poked and prodded at her. They didn't understand how magic worked and she had no desire to explain it to them. She'd wanted to be left alone. After being separated from her aunt, Lena had been living a relatively drama-free existence in Duckburg. Sure, things weren't perfect, but not having Magica as a literal shadow hanging over her had done wonders for Lena's sanity. Now FOWL was dredging up magic Lena hardly used as it reminded her of Magica.

"You're not going to have a choice," Black Heron informed her. Lena rolled her eyes. She was currently strapped to a chair in the middle of an empty warehouse room. Their words echoed off the rafters.

"There's always a choice and my answer is always going to be 'no'," Lena snapped. "I'm done with doing the work for evil people. I'm not your puppet."

Black Heron frowned, studying her. Lena glowered back. She was sick of being jerked around by villains who wanted to exploit her. She knew, from her brief conversation, that Webby was too. So why had Webby subjected her to his when they were in the same boat?

"What if I gave you a friend?" Heron suggested.

"I have friends. Their names are Huey, Dewey, and Louie," she growled.

"What about Webbigail?" Heron said, ignoring her. "You two have a great deal in common, I can see that already."

"Not really into being brainwashed, thanks but no thanks. Like I said, I've had enough of being manipulated. So find someone else to play with."

"We have your aunt in custody," Heron said, still ignoring her. She waved a hand dismissively. "It turns out that she's been quite interested in you even now. Something about you betraying her. Not sure-I wasn't paying complete attention. But she's looking forward to breaking your spirit."

Lena scrambled, trying to get out of the chair and only succeeding in falling backward. Her heart hammered between her ribs. She was so scared that her teeth chattered and she could barely breathe.

"Oh, do I have your attention now?" Heron asked.

"Aunt Magica's not interested in me anymore," she said, praying it was true. "It's been years since I betrayed her."

"And yet, like no time at all has passed," Magica said, approaching them. Lena's veins turned to ice.

"Hello, little Lena," Magica crooned. "It seems FOWL and I have a common enemy-Scrooge McDuck. And it seems that you're in the perfect place for me to use you, again. Only, this time, spare me your free will."

She reached out with her magic and Lena flinched, rolling around like a turtle on its back trying to get away from her. She crashed onto her side.

"What's going on?" a third voice said and though Lena recognized it, she winced again. Webby sounded hollow inside, like someone had sculpted out her emotions and left her a husk. She pushed herself back to her feet and saw that the other teen's eyes were bloodshot from crying. What the hell had they made Webby do?

"This doesn't concern you," Heron snapped. "I believe Steelbeak told you to take a vacation?"

"Let her go," Webby said, folding her arms across her chest. "You have Magica who will willingly help you. You don't need Lena."

"So I can kill her?" Heron asked and Webby's expression changed from stoicism to fear and anguish. Her beak trembled.

"Oh, I see," Heron said and then grinned wickedly. "You are upset over Agent 22's death, aren't you? It's killing you, isn't it?"

The older woman strode closer to Webby and scoffed. "You killed her by accident, didn't you? You were too feeble to-"

But Lena never knew what the woman was going to add because Webby punched her in between the eyes. Shocked and outraged, the woman reached for her, but Webby spun away. They traded blows so quickly that Lena had trouble following them. Magica stepped back, uninterested.

"Enjoying the entertainment, Aunt Magica?" Lena asked in a voice that only shook a little. Bully for her.

"Hmm, you know, the brat brings up a good point," Magica said. "You are extraneous. I could kill you and no one would even notice, would they?"

Magica gasped as Black Heron crashed into her. Both women fell over.

"Excuse me! I was threatening someone here!" Magica huffed. "How rude!"

Before Black Heron had a chance to recover, Webby was on her again and it seemed like this was a fight that had been building up for years. Neither female held back and Lena realized with a sense of dread that they were fighting to the death. She had to break this up, but how? With Heron distracted, Magica remained a threat. How could she distract her aunt too?

"You know, if Webby wins, your deal with FOWL might be null and void," Lena said. "You made the contract with her, right? Webby's out for blood."

"So I should-" Magica stopped as Black Heron went sailing over her head and flattened her to the cement floor. Webby was not messing around today. Holy crap.

Just to make sure they weren't going to move again, she hit them both in the head. That might've been overkill. With both women hitting the cement floor with a loud crack that sounded like it both hurt and possibly fractured someone's skull, Webby turned to Lena and undid her restraints.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have kidnapped you."

"You can make it up to me by taking me back to Duckburg," Lena said and then frowned. "Webby...what happened on Mount Vesuvius?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Webby murmured. Lena stood up, rubbing her wrists.

Lena knew better than to pry with an answer like that. Heaven knew she'd given enough of those responses to the boys over the years. Still...she studied Webby's face. It was drawn, her expression pained. Lena would've put a hand on her shoulder or hugged her, but she sensed they were both not much for being touched. Or touch starved.

If that was the case, then…

Lena braced herself to be attacked as she hugged Webby. Webby froze, but didn't fight her. After a minute, she relaxed in her arms and then hugged her back. Her shoulders were shaking.

"Webby?" she murmured.

"I wish I had a home to come back to…" Webby whispered. A dry sob escaped her. "I wish FOWL wasn't my home."


	8. I Hope I'm Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Webby and Lena discover escape isn't that easy. The group finds out where FOWL HQ is. And Black Heron tells Steelbeak that Webby's a traitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dessa song for the chapter title. 
> 
> Never underestimate how much Black Heron hates Webby.

They made it out to a wide hallway before Webby halted. Lena bumped into her and was about to ask what the delay was when klaxons blared out. Lights flashed and steel grates slammed down over doors. Lena grabbed her amulet and squeezed, forcing the one immediately ahead of them to raise. Seeing as Webby had frozen in place, she yanked her along. Of course, Webby knew this facility much better than she did and it wasn’t long before they found themselves at another crossroads, four doors, all locked down, barricading their progress.

 

“Which one?” Lena pressed. Why had Webby chosen now to flake out on her? “Webby.”

 

Webby said nothing and Lena hissed.

 

“I can move all the barriers in our way, but you have to tell me which way that is,” she growled.

 

“It’s too late,” Webby moaned. As if right on cue, Lena’s amulet went dark, as did their surroundings. Unconsciously, Lena sidled closer to Webby. Her hand brushed the other girl’s and Webby flinched. Physically abused, then. Mrs. Beakley would have a conniption. Something within Lena longed to protect the younger girl, defend her against the evil FOWL perpetrated.

 

This was wrong. From everything she’d heard about Webby as a small child, she’d been full of confidence and vigor. This Webby had little confidence in herself and was constantly off-kilter. FOWL had wrecked her. Lena didn’t know why this angered her so much--she barely knew her, after all--but it did. She had grown to care about Webby’s grandmother and knew how much she mourned her granddaughter’s disappearance. To see what Webby had been turned into would devastate her.

 

“Lemme guess--magical forcefield?” she asked and Webby nodded. To her surprise, her fingers brushed against hers again and Lena found herself wanting to hold her hand to comfort her.

 

 _“Family is supposed to help you, not hold you captive!”_ Lena’s words from so long ago echoed in her mind. That was what Steelbeak was doing to her, holding her captive. Lena inched closer to her and Webby flung her to the floor as a blade came out of the ceiling and came within inches of slicing at them. What the hell? What was going on here?

 

In her hands, her amulet sputtered. Lena growled, aiming a magical blast at the blade. It was hard to see in the dark and only the passing of wind had warned her in time. Her heart hammered again.

 

“This is some sort of screwed up test, isn’t it?” she muttered and again, Webby nodded.

 

“How am I supposed to aim when I can’t friggin’ see?” she protested.

 

“Anticipate where the blade will be,” she instructed. “Feel its passing and figure out its pattern.”

 

“That’s easy for you to say,” Lena grumbled. “You were trained in this stuff.”

 

The blade squished overhead and Lena could swear it was getting lower. She was trying not to freak out over here. The blade was getting lower and she still had no idea how to stop it. She couldn’t ask Webby to halt it with her bare hands. Clearly, this was designed to force Lena to use magic to save them. It reminded her entirely too much of Magica’s machinations for her liking.

 

She was too panicked to deduce the pattern and she became aware of Webby counting aloud. At first, Lena thought of snapping at her, and then she realized she was timing the blade for Lena’s benefit. Every minute, it lowered another six inches and began its pattern again. One, two, three, four, spin, pivot, one, two, three, four, then drop.

 

Lena willed herself to focus. By the third repetition, she had it down. She aimed with the amulet, fired, and heard the blade slam into the opposite wall. The lights returned and Lena’s heart rate slowly resumed its normal pace. Webby smiled at her, but it didn’t reach her eyes, which remained empty and hollow inside. Lena wrenched her gaze away; something at Mount Vesuvius was ruining her, even now, but it wasn’t the time to discuss it.

 

In the next room, which she had the sense they were only allowing her to access, fire spat out at them. Lena whirled, conjuring up a protective shield about herself and Webby. The fire sprayed at the shield and Lena huddled closer to Webby. Webby was oddly calm, but perhaps that had more to do with her peculiar state of mind than the absence of fear. She barely knew her as she was now but she was worried. This little reaction in the face of danger was unnatural.

 

That wasn’t Lena’s only problem. The fire continued, unabated, and Lena didn’t know how long she could hold up the shield before it collapsed and they were incinerated. Webby couldn’t do anything about this, not unless she wanted to be a roast duck. However, Lena was disused to conjuring up protection of any sort and using magic, in general, was a novelty to her after her parting ways with Magica. She ground her beak in frustration.

 

After what might’ve been a minute but felt more like an eternity, the fire stopped and Lena sagged against Webby. The other girl was supporting her and Lena had the dread suspicion that their next room would contain another challenge, and then another until Lena collapsed. FOWL had no tolerance for feebleness.

 

With a sense of impending doom, she and Webby made their way to the next room. At first blush, there was nothing to see. It was a vacant warehouse room and the door through which they had entered vanished, leaving them in a room with no exits. Was she supposed to create one? That wasn’t something she’d learned how to do. The alternative was to transport them out of the room, but, again, not something that Lena knew how to do. As far as she knew, from her experience with Magica, that might not even be possible. Magica had a broom for a reason.

 

Then shadows appeared on the walls. Ever since Magica, Lena had hated shadows. They petrified her. She grabbed Webby’s wrist and realized that she was shaking. The room darkened considerably until it was an equal balance of light and shadow. Lena was whimpering.

 

“Poor dumb little Lena…” Magica crooned and Lena whirled. “Did you really think you’d escape? You really thought I’d grant you your freedom?”

 

Lena, desperate, spun to look at Webby, but Webby’s gaze was linked to a different wall. Curious, Lena wrenched her gaze away from her aunt (who continued taunting her) and saw Webby slicing at her grandmother’s arm. At once, Lena understood the purpose of this room. These were things that haunted them. Webby gasped, backing up into Lena until it was all Lena could do to keep them both upright. Whispers trailed along the walls now, too, both Magica and Mrs. Beakley, along with Black Heron. Lena wasn’t sure they were real--it was possible for two out of the three, but she doubted Mrs. Beakley would choose to torment her granddaughter. That meant it had to be an illusion. A powerful one, no doubt, but an illusion just the same.

 

Mind games.

 

Webby’s beak quivered and she fisted her hand into Lena’s shirt. This was pretty messed up, even for FOWL. They were supposed to be testing Lena, not Webby.

 

Black Heron’s voice rose out of the cacophony. “You’re not as loyal as you seem, hmm, Webbigail?”

 

“I didn’t mean to kill her!” Webby protested, her voice high and strained.

 

“Then what good are you?” Heron sneered. Webby was panting, each breath seemingly shorter and shorter. Lena had been near Huey during one of his panic attacks and she recognized the symptoms. Webby was about to hyperventilate.

 

“Get a life!” Lena snapped. She squeezed the amulet again and banished the shadows, though the effort left her shaky and off-balance. Black Heron lingered and Lena wrapped a protective arm about Webby’s waist.

 

“Sssh, it’s okay,” she said. She had some experience calming the triplets down, particularly Louie and Huey, after panic attacks. “Sssh. Breathe.”

 

“Sisterly affection?” Black Heron sneered and stepped forward through the previously impenetrable wall. A doorway appeared in it now and, without bothering to speak to her, Lena grabbed Webby and dashed for the open door. Black Heron didn’t stop them. There was dried blood on her scalp and she had a black eye.

 

Black Heron had set this trap not for Lena, but for Webby. She had wanted to see what her true reaction was to Agent 22’s death. Now that she had what she wanted, she allowed them to go free and reach the living quarters. Of course, Lena had no idea where those were, but Webby’s aimless walking eventually brought them to her room.

 

It was a good thing it wasn’t far because as soon as Webby scanned her palm and admitted them both, she collapsed onto the bed. Lena knew she ought to comfort Webby, but she had bigger concerns. Black Heron hardly needed a reason to attack Webby, but now she had concrete proof that Webby wasn’t cut out to be a FOWL agent. Between Webby assaulting her earlier, freeing Lena, and then confessing she didn’t want to attack someone she’d been trained her whole life to kill, Black Heron had a serious case against her.

 

Lena didn’t know how FOWL operated, but she was willing to bet that this boded ill for both of them. She sat down on the bed and rubbed Webby’s back distractedly.

 

By not adopting their ways and by only attacking Mrs. Beakley under duress, Webby had proven her unfitness as an agent. Steelbeak could hardly fail to recognize that. Lena knew enough about how villains operated to know that they wouldn’t accept anyone who didn’t adhere to their principles.

 

They had to get out of here before the news reached Steelbeak or he might be forced into seriously hurting Webby.

 

Doubtless, some of this had occurred to Webby, hence her hyperventilating. Lena continued rubbing her back; then again, it was also possible that she was freaking out over whatever the shadow Beakley had said to her. Not having heard it, Lena could only guess.

 

A line from a song popped into her head.

 

“I’m not broke. I’m just a broken-hearted man…”

 

“Webby!” she hissed. As much as she hated this, they had no time for histrionics. “We need to get out of here before Black Heron goes to Steelbeak.”

 

Webby lifted her head and stared at her without seeing her. “Why? What’s the point?”

 

“The point is that she has proof that you’re not cut out to be a FOWL agent in black and white now,” she growled. “You know better than me what they do with FOWL agents who aren’t fit to serve.”

 

Webby still looked blank and Lena sighed.

 

“You admitted you didn’t want to kill your grandmother!” Lena said, exasperated. “That was literally one of the worst things you could’ve said...and I’m channeling Louie. Great.”

 

“C’mon, care about something,” she begged. Webby flopped back onto the bed and pressed her face into the pillows.

 

“What’s the point?” she asked dully. “Mr. McDuck wouldn’t tell me what happened to her, which means she’s dead. I failed to keep my emotions out of this and I couldn’t even keep my mouth shut about my feelings. I was supposed to be cool-headed and stoic and I wasn’t. I’m not fit to be a FOWL agent.”

 

“Because you’re not meant to be one!” Lena cried. “You’re meant to be with your grandmother and the triplets and Uncle Scrooge in the mansion!”

 

Webby glanced up once and then sighed. “You wouldn’t understand.”

 

“What? I wouldn’t understand about your family trying to force you into something against your will and then punishing you when you don’t react the way they want you to? About your family holding you captive and scrutinizing your every thought and feeling, attacking you if you dare think differently? I know exactly what that’s like. Aunt Magica held me captive for fifteen years, Webby. A little longer than you’ve been here.”

 

Webby had stopped hyperventilating, at least. She rolled over to look at Lena.

 

“And when I tell you that Black Heron doesn’t need an excuse to kill you, I’m telling you the truth,” Lena said. “Magica tried to destroy me when she had power. Black Heron isn’t even down and out and she’s wanted you dead for a decade.”

 

Lena frowned. “You know what herons do to ducklings, don’t you?”

 

“They kill them in front of their parents,” Webby said and then froze. Her eyes met Lena’s. Neither of them liked where that train of thought led.

 

“We have to leave. Now,” Lena repeated. “Your mom might not be around, but your dad is. And Heron has a grudge against your grandmother.”

 

Webby nodded, swiping at her cheeks. Lena leaned forward and hugged her. Webby hugged her back. It had taken Lena a while to get used to hugs and positive touch. She could tell Webby was in the same boat. When Lena let go of her, Webby didn’t release her in turn, so Lena hugged her again. The younger girl was shaking, her eyes wide.

 

“Webby?” Lena prodded when it seemed that the other girl didn’t want to move.

 

“I’m sorry I kidnapped you,” Webby murmured.

 

“You said that already,” Lena said, faintly irritated. FOWL wouldn’t kill her; they had uses for her. But Webby’s time was running out.

 

“I don’t know how to leave HQ,” she said and her expression was pained. “They knocked me out and then flew me to Duckburg. I’ve never left HQ on my own--they were probably afraid I’d leave and go back to McDuck Manor.”

 

“Then…” Lena said, at a loss. “We have a serious problem. We’ll work it out as we run, okay?”

 

Webby nodded and although she still looked like someone had carved her out her heart and served it to her, her eyes were full of resolve.

 

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s go.”

 

\-----  
  
  
  
“Ha, ha! Success!” Scrooge proclaimed. He hadn’t gotten the damn phone to work again, but he had found something better. They might have been forced to retreat from Mount Vesuvius, but this time, their tracker hadn’t been found by the enemy. Darkwing Duck had pegged one of the Eggheads and even though the signal had blipped out, it was too late. They knew exactly where FOWL HQ was.

 

“I should have guessed,” Mrs. Beakley said. Despite the fact that she wasn’t supposed to be on her feet, she had insisted on coming along for this. She was sitting in a wheelchair in Gyro’s lab and her hands were tight on the armrests.

 

“He would put his HQ in Siberia,” she said, shaking her head. “Nothing but snow for miles around. It’s a death sentence for anyone who tries to leave without transportation.”

 

“We need to get there as soon as possible before someone discovers that the Egghead was being tracked,” Scrooge said.

 

Darkwing scowled. “They’re not gonna figure it out, not if the thing stopped transmitting as soon as they entered. It was active up until five minutes ago.”

 

“You seem awfully confident for someone who’s never used a tracking device before,” Mrs. Beakley informed him. Her disdain was obvious.

 

“It didn’t used to be in Siberia,” Darkwing said, ignoring her completely. “It was in the Amazon. It makes sense that they’ve moved since they knew we knew where they were. How fast can we get there, LP?”

 

Scrooge bristled. He hated that Darkwing was ordering his pilot around, though Launchpad didn’t seem to mind. The man was fawning over him and falling all over himself to please his hero.

 

“Uh...about thirteen hours,” he said. “Twelve and a half if I fly a little faster than normal.”

 

Scrooge sighed. They were all tired and they needed time to lick their wounds. Plus, while he normally had little confidence in Launchpad’s piloting abilities, he thought to ask him to fly for another twenty-four hours was too much. He looked over at Mrs. Beakley, whose expression was grave. He knew she wanted to fly out too, but she wasn’t in any shape to confront Webbigail again.

 

“Two days rest,” Scrooge decided and Mrs. Beakley growled. “We can’t expect everyone to fly into action, Bentina, and we do need our rest. Especially you. They won’t have moved the entire HQ in two days.”

 

“I know, but…” she sighed. She had a grainy picture of Webby taken from a surveillance camera earlier. He saw the pain in her eyes.

 

“We’ll be there in two and a half days,” Scrooge soothed. “Nothing’s going to happen to her in that time frame.”

 

He hoped. He really had no way of knowing, which was problematic. But he couldn’t tell Bentina that or she’d fly off the rails. He wasn’t even sure two days was sufficient for her to recover, but it was all the time they could really afford. She would’ve balked at further delay.

 

And he wasn’t looking forward to traveling to Siberia.

 

\----  
  
  
  
Black Heron paced in front of Steelbeak’s desk. “You see my point, then?”

 

Steelbeak scowled. “You’ve had a vendetta against Agent 22 and against my daughter for as long as I’ve known you. All this proves is that you’re desperate for a chance to get rid of Webby.”

 

“I have proof she’s a traitor,” Black Heron hissed. “I have proof she’s not cut out for this. You knew she wasn’t a psychopath, Steelbeak. You knew she didn’t have the coldness necessary to be a killer.”

 

“I’ll keep an eye on her.”

 

Black Heron snarled. “You’re refusing to see the truth! You’re clouded by affection for that damn girl!”

 

“Webbigail is mine,” Steelbeak said coldly, cutting off her protests. “She belongs to me. She is an extension of me as my offspring. You attack her, you attack me. You’d better have some damn compelling evidence because right now, you’re skating on thin ice.”

 

Black Heron faltered and Steelbeak smirked.

 

“Don’t ever tell me I’m clouded by affection. I don’t have a heart. But I do know that if you make one more crack about Webbigail, I’ll see you executed. Is that understood?”

 

Black Heron’s eyes narrowed. She would find another way to rid herself of Webbigail, then. But she wouldn’t back down, regardless of whether she appeared to or not. This was a minor setback. As far as she was concerned, the game was still in play.


	9. Into the Spin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Webby and Lena run the gamut of FOWL's defenses and Webby receives another ultimatum from Steelbeak.

Through a window, Webby caught a glimpse of their surroundings and groaned, hope abandoning her again. Black Heron was gunning for her and HQ appeared to be in the middle of a frozen tundra. Any areas that had transportation were bound to be locked up and anyway, Webby had never been permitted to see where they were. It’d be so much easier if they had a map, but that was something else Webby had never been allowed to possess. All of the maps she’d attempted to make had been destroyed.

 

She glanced at her cell phone and saw she had no service. When had that happened? Lena glanced down at her phone too and then pulled out her own cell phone. She scowled at it and Webby saw it, too, had no service. Lena held it up to the window and a single bar flickered in and out. It wouldn’t be enough to contact anyone; it was too inconsistent. Webby sagged.

 

It was unlike her to succumb to despair. She tried to rally, but all she could see were the shadows on the walls, her grandmother condemning her when all Mrs. Beakley had wanted to do was bring Webby back. Sobs crept up on her and she pushed them back. She’d tried to be numb and it hadn’t worked. What she needed was a safe haven from Black Heron and a few days to process what was going on.

 

“Service!” Lena proclaimed and then cursed a few seconds later. “It’s not working. Again. Where are we, in the middle of Siberia?”

 

“Maybe,” Webby said, her first contribution to the conversation in a while. “It’d make sense. They’d want to keep me from escaping, after all. And anyone who needs to leave can.”

 

She slumped to the floor. “They used to be located in the Amazon rainforest, but ever since SHUSH sussed them out, they moved. That was back before they kidnapped me.”

 

“They created an elaborate hideout to keep you hidden?” Lena said, shaking her head.

 

“It was probably just an unintended bonus,” she said. Lena slumped to the floor with her for solidarity, not because she was drained emotionally. Webby glanced at her; this was a partnership of convenience. She didn’t believe Lena would hang around once they were free. She’d return to Duckburg and Webby would, what? She couldn’t stay here. Black Heron had essentially declared open season on her. FOWL HQ wasn’t safe. But she couldn’t go back to Duckburg. They wouldn’t want a murderer in their midst.

 

“You know, your granny’s a tough old bird,” Lena said, squeezing her shoulder. “You didn’t mean to kill her, right? So she might’ve survived.”

 

“But Mr. McDuck used past tense…” she said.

 

“He might’ve said that to throw you off.”

 

“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked, suspicious.

 

“Because I’ve been there,” she said and shrugged. “I was Magica’s puppet for years. I know what it’s like to be abused by your family, by the people who are supposed to care about you and help you. The McDuck family took me in and I’m not even related to them.

 

“You’d be welcomed back with open arms.”

 

Webby stared at the floor. She had washed out as a FOWL operative, which was what she’d been told repeatedly that she had wanted. She had lashed out at the Duck boys because she was supposed to be a FOWL agent, which was the same reason she’d attacked her grandmother. Did she care about making Steelbeak proud? He’d kidnapped her and had a one-night stand with her mother. From the way he’d described it, she was a conquest, not a love affair.

 

Her entire life, she’d been told she should venerate him as the head of FOWL. She was supposed to honor him and loathe Agent 22. From the way her grandmother had put it, it wasn’t really her fault that FOWL had abducted Webby, but Mrs. Beakley blamed herself anyway. Webby hugged her knees to her chest again and Lena’s hand fell away.

 

How could Lena say she belonged in McDuck Manor after what she’d done? But if she didn’t stay here, she had nowhere else to go. She was trapped.

 

“Hey, I got service,” Lena said and waved her phone. “And it’s staying, not flickering in and out. Did you want to call someone?”

 

Webby’s phone showed no bars. She suspected FOWL might’ve been jamming the signal since, technically, Webby didn’t need the burner phone anymore. However, she wasn’t going to junk it. It had Dewey’s voicemails on it. Like Lena, he’d told her he didn’t blame her for what she’d done. He thought they were kindred spirits, meant to be together, and it was stupid, it was cliche, but Webby had loved it regardless. It was far more romantic than anything she’d ever encountered here.

 

He’d told her that even if he didn’t know off the bat how to make her happy, he’d be willing to give it a shot. No one had ever said that to her either. No one had ever made an effort to cheer her up before she’d gone to Duckburg. She closed her eyes and vowed that if SHUSH came here, if her grandmother was alive, she wouldn’t resist. Even though she was pretty sure that the Duck boys would be suspicious (and rightfully so), maybe things would be better than here. Hell, anything had to be better than constantly looking over her shoulder in case Black Heron struck.

 

“I don’t know anyone’s phone number but Dewey’s,” she admitted, chagrined. “Plus, there’s a possibility that they’re monitoring all calls in and out of HQ.”

 

Lena scowled. “That’s true. All right, we need to find transportation out of here. Got any suggestions?”

 

Webby glanced up at the security cameras. If they were going to escape, then they’d need to disable the cameras. That meant entering the control room, which Webby hadn’t ever been shown but she had a general idea of where it might be. A general idea might be wrong, but she’d committed the map to memory the third time that someone had gone into her room and destroyed it. Privacy was non-existent in FOWL HQ.

 

“We have to disable the security cameras, but I don’t know the system,” she admitted. “I was taught hacking--” and had used those skills to funnel money illegally into FOWL’s funds--”but that doesn’t mean I can turn them off. I don’t know where the security room is, either, and it’s not like FOWL believes in labeling anything.”

 

“Why make things too easy?” Lena grumped. She brightened. “I might be able to help. I can astral project myself and see if I can find the camera room that way.”

 

Webby frowned, shaking her head. “It’d take too long. By the time we found it, they’d be onto us.”

 

She contemplated this. It wasn’t like they could escape on foot, not if they were in the middle of Siberia. And while Russian was one of the many languages she spoke, she wouldn’t be able to use it to commandeer a vehicle unless they were near enough to civilization. Knowing FOWL, they had put themselves in a remote location miles away from any unlikely inhabitants, save those who lived in prison camps. Webby gnawed the inside of her beak.

 

If she used Lena’s phone, she assumed Lena had contacts within the Duck family besides Dewey. But they were in America; by the time they reached them, assuming that the lines were tapped, FOWL would be several steps ahead. No matter how she looked at it, escape was infeasible at the moment without further planning. And that meant that she had to have Black Heron on her back.

 

“You can’t fly, can you?” Webby asked desperately and the other girl shook her head.

 

“My aunt can with a broom, but I’ve never tried,” she said. “And it probably has to be a special broom. I don’t actually know that much about magic to be able to pick it out. Plus, we’re in the middle of a frozen tundra.”

 

“The cold air and exposure would kill us long before we found sanctuary,” Webby added, suppressing a sigh.

 

“Your dad’s Steelbeak, right?” Lena asked and Webby nodded.

 

“He knows that Black Heron hates me and wants me dead,” she replied. “He’s never let her seriously hurt me, but he’s like all other FOWL agents. You have to prove how tough you are constantly. If you get attacked, it’s your own fault for being vulnerable.”

 

“Sounds like Magica’s logic,” Lena muttered.

 

“I know where the armory is,” Webby said. “We can arm ourselves against Black Heron while we scope out HQ. And this place is huge--scoping it out will take some time. We should probably grab some food too.”

 

Lena nodded. “Hole ourselves up in your room so that way, if someone’s coming, we’ll be ready.”

 

Webby agreed. There was a knot in her chest that made it hurt to breathe, like the darkness within FOWL HQ had physically manifested itself in her lungs. Perhaps that was guilt and misery. Lena had said Mrs. Beakley was a “tough old bird”. Might that mean that Scrooge was misleading Webby to see where her true loyalties were?

 

“They probably have to physically touch my phone to hack it,” Lena said after a minute. “So it should be safe.”

 

Cell-phone hacking was not among Webby’s skill set. Steelbeak hadn’t wanted her to have access to any type of telecommunication device, save for wiring money from one account to another. He’d set up firewall after firewall to prevent her from being able to speak with anyone. Come to think of it, that wasn’t exactly the act of a loving father. Then again, Webby had known from an early age that Steelbeak didn’t actually love her; he considered her a possession of his. As such, she didn’t have the right to autonomy.

 

“Did you want to talk to Scrooge?” Lena asked, waving the phone at her. “I can call him up.”

 

Unable to speak, Webby just nodded. Her throat was tight and she was apprehensive of what this phone call might portend.

 

“I don’t know if the cameras record audio and video or just video,” Webby said, frowning. “I want to talk to him, but it might not be worth the risk. They’re bound to be eavesdropping on us, even without your phone being bugged.”

 

“So, what? We’re supposed to use sign language?” Lena asked, exasperated.

 

“You don’t know sign language, do you?”

 

“And you do?”

 

“Well, yeah, it was part of my training…” she said, sheepish. It hadn’t occurred to her until just now that most children didn’t receive that type of training. She didn’t know what kind of childhood Lena had had, either. In fact, when it came to Lena, Webby knew next to nothing. Lena’s powers and her potential threat level had been in the dossier FOWL had issued, but nothing about her history, because FOWL considered that on a need to know basis. And, of course, Webby didn’t fit the “need to know”.

 

Lena studied Webby for a minute and then shook her head with a grimace.

 

“I guess we’re gonna have a very quiet afternoon,” Lena said. “Because I don’t know how to sign and last time I checked, telepathy was not a thing.”

 

And since she didn’t know if there was a security camera in her room, she couldn’t tell whether they saw her writing, either. Since they’d destroyed her maps, they must’ve had some way of knowing what she did in there. That could’ve been through the cleaning crew too. Webby couldn’t lock her door.

 

“While we wait and see if your crazy handler decides if she’s going to try to kill you,” Lena added. “You’re popular.”

 

Webby didn’t have a working cell phone, but she did have a communicator on her belt. It buzzed; okay, “communicator” was overselling it. It was closer to an old beeper and instead of showing the number, it showed the person trying to contact her. She only ever received calls from two people--Steelbeak and Black Heron. She had the sense Black Heron had said all she needed to Webby, which left one other person.

 

“Steelbeak,” she said. She didn’t know if Lena would be safe wandering HQ on her own; she doubted Steelbeak would let Lena listen in on a private conversation. They were standing at present in the middle of a hallway wide enough to drive a truck through with cement floors and walls. It looked like an army outpost or, rather, what she assumed one looked like. Not having had encountered many things in real life, she guessed and imagined a lot.

 

“I’ll wait outside,” Lena said. “I’m not gonna stroll around HQ and wait for Black Heron or Aunt Magica to pick me off.”

 

Webby thought it likely that either of those two could do so while Lena was waiting for Webby, but she didn’t say it. She didn’t want to complicate the situation.

 

“I’ll be okay,” she promised Webby. Webby knew none of her thoughts showed on her face--Steelbeak had drilled that into her and only times of extreme distress did she falter in that--but Lena must’ve been able to guess.

 

“I’m a big girl. I can protect myself. Besides,” she added, “no one wants me dead.”

 

Webby swallowed hard. Unlike her.

 

* * *

  
  
Steelbeak gestured lazily toward a chair and his daughter sat, looking uncomfortable. Yes, he’d just spoken with her earlier but in light of what Black Heron had told him, he thought they needed to have another chat about Webby’s priorities.

 

“I met with Heron,” he said without preamble. “She had an interesting story to tell me about your real reactions to your grandmother’s death.”

 

“I’m fine,” Webby said emotionlessly.

 

“That’s not how she tells it,” he responded. “She wanted my permission to ‘handle’ you and the problem you’re posing. She seems to think you’re not a real FOWL agent, that you’re not dedicated to our cause. Of course, she’s said this before, but...I’m starting to wonder if she might be right.”

 

He rose to his feet. “We fed you. We nurtured you and your natural abilities. We clothed you. We took care of you. You don’t have right to turn your back on us.”

 

“You also kidnapped me,” Webby muttered.

 

“For your own good,” he said. “Your grandmother doesn’t have the coldness required to raise a cold-blooded killer.”

 

His eyes narrowed. “Were we too lenient on you? Is that why you have a guilty conscience? Should we have set your first kill at a younger age? You shouldn’t have a conscience at all. No good FOWL agent does.”

 

He clucked his beak at her. “I killed my parents when they got in the way. And you can’t even handle Agent 22?”

 

She cast her gaze downward and he growled.

 

“Look at me when I speak to you,” he snapped. “You’re not showing me proper respect, Webbigail. Like I said, I’m starting to think Black Heron might have a point. You might not be FOWL material.”

 

She looked up and he stepped around his desk to grip her shoulders tightly, painfully, digging his thumbs into the tender flesh. She didn’t cry out, but the pain was evident around her eyes. He smirked. Good.

 

“You know what we do to agents who aren’t good enough to join our ranks?” he asked and she nodded.

 

“Tell me,” he ordered.

 

“You kill them,” she said. Her voice was faint, a ghost of its normal self.

 

“Exactly,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to have to kill my daughter, not when I put so much time and effort and resources into raising her. But if you can’t hack it, Webbigail, then I’m not gonna have much of a choice, am I?”

 

He dug his thumbs in deeper and was rewarded with a small gasp. She was afraid. Good.

 

“Just something to keep in mind on your next mission,” he said.

 

“Which is?” she asked. Her voice trembled slightly.

 

“I installed a spy program on your phone,” he said and then smirked. “Did you think I didn’t? I know that Duck boy keeps calling you. I’ve heard the voicemails. Pathetic.”

 

Webby froze and the blood drained from her face.

 

“Prove to me you can neutralize him and we’ll welcome you back with open arms. Until then, you’re on probation. And if you don’t bring me back a sign that you’ve eliminated him within, let’s say, a week…” He let the threat hang in the air and she swallowed hard.

 

“Capiche?”

 

She nodded, looking sick. Why was he even giving her this chance? He knew she’d botch it. Was he just postponing the inevitable? She was going to end up keeping Dewey Duck from harm. But the only way she could do that would be if she eliminated herself from the picture.

 

He pushed her away with one final dig into her flesh and she cried out, eyes wide.

 

“Get packed,” he instructed. “You’re leaving within the hour.”

 

He would be sorry if he had to kill her. After all, she was half of him. He’d failed as a parent to warp her into the right individual. This was on him.

 

And maybe he’d let Black Heron tag along on this little adventure, in case Webby didn’t understand just how high the stakes were.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Webby and Lena fly back to Duckburg with Webby's terrible task hanging over her head like the Sword of Damocles and Scrooge acts like a complete bastard to an emotionally unstable teenager.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long update this week. Read and review and all that jazz.
> 
> Blah. Depression.

Webby fell into a troubled sleep on the plane ride over. It hadn't helped that she'd barely slept in the last few days or that she'd barely managed to convince Steelbeak to let her bring Lena along. Poisoning her grandmother and her suspicions that her grandmother had perished, along with Steelbeak's threats, hadn't led to comfortable dreams. Webby whimpered in her sleep, curling in on herself.

Lena remained awake, staring at this young girl that Dewey was so enamored with, that Mrs. Beakley had been desperate to find. She felt protective over her; Webby hadn't told her what her conversation with Steelbeak had entailed, but she'd looked sick to her stomach afterward. Something told Lena that Webby would have refused the mission if it were safe to do so.

At least they were escaping HQ, although Webby had shuffled along like she'd been given a death sentence. Lena knew that hollow-eyed expression. Tentatively, because touch always startled her and she knew it would do the same to Webby, she brushed the younger girl's hair back and smoothed it. Webby's eyes flew open and she grabbed her wrist.

"I'm impressed," Lena said. "I didn't think you'd notice."

"You didn't think I'd notice someone touching me?" Webby growled. "I've been trained since age five to detect when someone's near me when I'm asleep. I'm always on guard."

"Sounds familiar," Lena said, thinking of her dear Aunt Magica, who had fortunately remained back at HQ.

"Why were you touching me?" Webby hissed. Lena had somehow forgotten that Webby was tetchy, perhaps even more so because she was on edge and had it cranked up to eleven.

"You ever heard of an innocent touch?" Lena scoffed. "Man, you're gonna get along so well with the boys when we get back to Duckburg."

Webby's gaze turned distant and she released Lena's wrist. She turned away to look out the window, though there was nothing to see. It was something that would prevent her from needing to look at Lena. Suspicion prickled along Lena's arms and raised goosebumps.

"You've been walking around like a condemned criminal," Lena said. "What's going on?"

If she thought Webby would confide in her, she was sadly mistaken. Webby turned back to look at her and her eyes flashed. Whatever vulnerability the younger girl had let her glimpse before was gone now. Moreover, whatever Steelbeak had told her had hardened her heart, at least temporarily. She wasn't sure why Webby was so mercurial, but she was willing to bet that having two supervillains help raise her hadn't helped her sanity.

"I have a new mission," Webby said, the words sounding like they were being dragged out of her.

"Which is…?" Lena pried.

"I'll tell you when I have to."

"That sounds ominous."

Webby's eyes flashed at her. She pulled out her phone, stared at it, and then threw it hard against the side of the plane. Knowing that Dewey had left Webby no fewer than five voicemails, possibly more now that Webby couldn't access, Lena raised her eyebrows. The phone didn't break-rather, it skidded off the wall and bounced down the carpet toward the bathroom. It almost looked like the phone had dented the wall.

Lena touched her phone self-consciously. She didn't know what Webby was getting at, but she seemed to be agitated now. Unbuckling her seatbelt, Webby jumped to her feet, grabbed the phone, and headed for the small area where a stewardess would stand if this were a commercial flight. She looked like she was about to throw the phone out. Lena leaned in her seat; Webby pressed her beak against the wall and then threw the phone violently into the trash can so hard it shook.

Lena guessed she hadn't done that for shits and giggles. But when FOWL tried to contact her later and discovered her phone was out of order, wouldn't she be in jeopardy?

The same thought appeared to have occurred to Webby too because, with a groan, she dug the phone out and marched back to her seat. Since the trash can had been empty, nothing else had befallen the phone. Maybe the trash can, but not the cell.

They were six hours into their twelve-hour flight and Webby's eyes were red from fatigue, yet Lena doubted she'd fall asleep again any time soon. With Webby wound up, it made Lena not want to rest either. As much as she might eventually grow to care for Webby, she didn't trust her, not when she acted like this.

"So, what did the phone do to offend you?" Lena asked in a would-be casual voice. She was trying to act as though Webby's behavior wasn't unusual, although, then again, how would she know? She'd barely known Webby for a full day, all told.

"I should've known," Webby muttered, curling up in her seat and staring balefully out at nothing in particular.

"Okay, any chance you're going to stop being cryptic in the next few minutes and actually explain yourself?" Lena said, fighting to keep irritation out of her voice. FOWL agents, man. Then again, Webby didn't technically qualify as one. She still didn't know what it was that Steelbeak had asked Webby to do, but it must've been worse than attacking Mrs. Beakley. Lena wasn't convinced that Webby's grandmother was dead. It took a lot to hurt the old bird, as she'd said, and she knew that Webby's heart hadn't been in it. Plus, she didn't think Webby was emotionally capable of killing someone. Physically, yes.

"It doesn't matter," Webby said, sounding like a sulky teenager. She stared at the floor and then sighed, seeming to realize that if it didn't matter, she might as well tell her.

"He wants me to kill Dewey and bring back tangible proof that I've followed his orders," Webby said after a long pause. She stared at the floor; since this was one of FOWL's personal planes, it was plush with specialized carpeting and comfy seats. It only had about six seats on it, total, and a partition in case someone wanted privacy in a "home" office. That was probably where Black Heron had vanished off to. Black Heron's presence wasn't helping Webby's nerves either.

It took a few seconds for what Webby had said to fully hit Lena. Once it had, she jumped to her feet in outrage.

"You're not going to do it, are you?" she exclaimed, staring at the younger girl.

"No," Webby said and the world was contained within that soft sigh. She didn't look at Lena. "I can't. I couldn't kill my granny and I can't kill Dewey. Steelbeak and Black Heron know that."

"Then, why are you here? On this plane?" Lena objected.

"Because if I don't at least make the attempt, I'll be dead that much sooner."

Lena frowned. "This is why you need SHUSH. They can protect you. I'm pretty sure your grandmother mentioned them."

"They didn't protect my mother from Steelbeak. They didn't protect Granny from me. What good are they?"

To that, Lena had no response. She didn't know what had befallen her mother; there were too many sensitive topics right now for Lena to be able to broach any with any expectation of success. Still, she was shocked. From the little Lena knew of Webby's relationship with Dewey, Dewey was besotted and Webby...she must've cherished him in some fashion because she hadn't deleted those five voicemails. She'd called him before, too. And the way she'd acted after receiving the assignment was of a prisoner walking to the gallows.

"The way I see it, they owe you big time. They let you get kidnapped. They didn't defend your mother against Steelbeak. They're the reason you've been stuck in FOWL custody almost your entire life. It's about time they started paying up."

Webby looked up at her. Her beak twitched; the look in her eyes was distraught and hopeless. She wasn't counting on anyone to help her.

"When...when FOWL discovers what I've done," Webby continued in a lower voice, in case Heron was listening in, "pretend you didn't know what was happening. It's your only chance."

Lena grabbed Webby's hand and held it tightly. "You're being melodramatic."

"You know what they do with hostile agents? They kill them. I won't do their bidding, which makes me a hostile agent. They'll kill me and Black Heron will throw a party because she'll have finished off the family. Maybe Steelbeak will mourn me because he wasted all of his time and effort on me."

Lena heard the words behind her comment. " _But no one else will care."_

That wasn't true. To her surprise, she discovered she would. She knew Dewey would. And damn it, she was willing to bet that Mrs. Beakley wasn't dead and would also mourn her loss, as she had been for the last ten years. Webby couldn't do this to her, not again. She opened her mouth to say this when the plane took a sudden and sharp jerk. Had they hit turbulence?

An Egghead walked out of the pilot's cabin. Lena's heart stuttered. If the pilot had just walked out, then who was flying the plane?

The plane took another unexpected and unwanted dip and Lena suppressed a scream.

"What's going on?" Webby demanded. Clearly, private one on one time was over. The mask had fallen over her features again and Lena sighed.

"Someone put a tracker on me," he growled.

"Don't look at me," she said, haughty. "I took the tracker Dewey put on me off."

Dewey had put a tracker on her? Clever boy. Lena knew it hadn't been Dewey's idea, but she was impressed all the same. That Webby had let Dewey touch her without flipping a shit was likewise impressive. Webby had to have feelings for him.

"I'll look at you if I want to," he growled.

"Who the hell is flying the plane?" Lena demanded and Black Heron sighed, stepping through the curtain that divided the two sections and strolling toward the pilot's cabin while the plane continued to lose altitude at an alarming rate. Maybe it was Lena's imagination, but it felt like the air was getting thinner. Webby was cool and collected, but for how long? Lena knew the veneer was as thin as newly formed ice.

"I'll fly it since you're an idiot," Heron informed the Egghead and, within seconds, the plane had righted itself and Lena could breathe again. Sulking, the Egghead stormed off toward the bathroom to remove the tracker. Lena didn't see what the big deal was. Surely at their current location, the tracker shouldn't be able to function. She didn't know what the distance range was on those things, but even with SHUSH technology, she doubted it extended to cruising altitude.

"SHUSH is tracking us…" Webby said. She balled her fists and said in a tremulous voice, "I won't let them get in my way."

For some reason, that frightened Lena more than the plane dipping or Webby's previous outbursts. Dewey was off-limits and so was her granny. But was anyone else fair game?

Lena studied Webby and Webby huffed, holding her chin high. It almost masked the fear Lena glimpsed in her eyes. Almost.

* * *

Contrary to what Webby thought, Mrs. Beakley had not died. In fact, other than lingering weakness and palsy, she was all right. Physically, anyway. Mentally was another story. She had her doubts about Webby now, although she'd seen the tears in her granddaughter's eyes and noticed how much she'd been trembling. FOWL would've welcomed her with open arms after that. Was that the validation Webby really needed? Not from her family, but from the thugs that masqueraded as her family?

She wanted another conversation with her, this one not in the thick of battle. She tried calling her cell phone, but, like Scrooge, had no luck. Dewey sat near her; he seemed to feel like he should wait on her, but that might not last too long. He'd probably grow bored and drift off.

Beside her on the other side was Scrooge McDuck, who was reviewing the security footage as if he could ascertain more about Webby than they'd already done through viewing it the last three times. Try as she might, she couldn't look away. Webby's distraught features pierced her heart. She didn't think her granddaughter had been acting. But...the doubts crept in.

She hadn't wanted to poison her, yet she'd done so. She hadn't wanted to flee back to FOWL, yet she had. She acted as though she had no choice, yet she should have chosen differently. Bentina stared at her phone. Thus far, half a day had passed since the battle and her regaining consciousness.

Vexed with herself, she tried calling Webby again on Dewey's phone. Since she didn't have Webby's number, she needed to *69 Webby through his. It was another level of frustrating, but this whole situation was aggravating, so it was a minor annoyance by comparison.

"Dewey?" Webby whispered, answering on the second ring. Her voice was hoarse and she was whispering. "Now is really not a good time."

"I gathered that much," Mrs. Beakley said and Dewey sat upright. He'd been slouching beside her bed and he gestured for the phone, which she refused to give to him. Scrooge plucked the phone from her grasp before she had a chance to talk further. She glowered at her boss.

"I want to talk to Webbigail," she growled. He'd covered the microphone with his hand. "She's my granddaughter, for God's sake."

"Granny?" Webby's voice issued from the speaker. "Granny, is that you?"

That was progress of a sort. She wasn't calling her Agent 22 anymore. Of course, she could probably switch back. Mrs. Beakley's throat was tight and her chest felt heavy. She wanted to pull her granddaughter in her arms and hold her tightly. That hadn't worked before; she hadn't even had a chance before Webby poisoned her.

"Webbigail, where are you?" Scrooge demanded, uncovering the microphone. He prevented anyone from eavesdropping on the conversation by keeping the phone close to his head. Mrs. Beakley fumed; in her current state, she couldn't rise up and smack him, but she really wanted to. He moved out of the room and Dewey followed. Feeble as she was right now, she was powerless to pursue him. She screamed in frustration.

The door closed behind Scrooge and his grand-nephew. Webby was again off-limits and out of her reach. She flopped back against the pillows and groaned. Her eyelids were heavy too, but sleep had better not dare think it would intrude now. She wished sleep was a physical entity she could throttle. Hell, she wished she could throttle Steelbeak and Black Heron. She knew they'd hurt her granddaughter and more than just psychologically. She knew they'd abused her physically too. Who knew what else had happened in FOWL's HQ? Who knew what evils they had wrought upon her?

Mrs. Beakley could imagine only too well. She glanced at the closed door and sighed, helpless and impotent. Webby…

Oh, her poor granddaughter. She closed her eyes, just for a minute, and fell back asleep.

* * *

"Was that my grandmother or not?" Webby asked, testy. She sounded like she wanted to kick his ass, which Dewey found both amusing and worrying. He knew she was more than capable of it, although Scrooge could be formidable himself when he wanted to be.

"That is beside the point," Scrooge said.

"It's the entire point!" she snarled. "Is my grandmother alive? Tell me!"

"I don't want to give you false hope," he answered in a solemn voice and Dewey winced in sympathy. He put Webby on speaker, this time for Dewey's benefit, and Dewey couldn't help but feel he'd wronged Mrs. Beakley in the process. How long did he intend to continue with this charade? How much was it wrecking Webby to think her only decent relative had perished by her hand?

"Is she alive or not?" Webby demanded.

"She's dying," he said quietly and Dewey squawked, objecting immediately. He lunged for the phone and Scrooge took off the speaker. He then disappeared into his office and locked Dewey out. Dewey banged on the door and screamed through it.

"He's lying! She's recovering! I don't know what he's playing at, but your grandmother's going to be okay, Webby!"

Dewey rammed his shoulder into the door and all he got for his troubles was a sore shoulder. Grimacing, he stepped back. That wood was probably harder than his head. Of course, Scrooge probably had the only key to this room.

Why would he lie to her? What could he hope to gain by it? Was he trying to turn Webby into a desperate assassin with nothing left to lose? People like that were dangerous. He could be making a bad situation even worse.

"Webby!" Dewey cried once more through the door to no avail. He doubted either of the two could hear him now.

* * *

Scrooge wasn't sure how much Webby had heard through the phone, though Dewey's words had come out muffled from here. She probably hadn't caught the individual words, which was good because if he wanted to play this right, he had to keep her off balance. He had to know who she really was and to do that, he had to test her mettle.

"She's dying?" Webby repeated and then said, "Wait. Is that Dewey screaming outside the room?"

"Just ignore him, lass," he said softly.

Webby said nothing for a minute. Dewey was pounding on the door; he was desperate to get in and talk to her. Scrooge felt vaguely guilty about the duplicity, but he didn't know how else to play this. If she knew Mrs. Beakley wasn't dead and was, in fact, recovering from her poisoning, she might strike again. He didn't have the faith in her that Dewey and Mrs. Beakley did. FOWL had corrupted many good people and Webby had been at an impressionable age when she'd been abducted.

"So, you're saying I killed her," Webby said flatly and he thought he detected pain in her voice, but it was hard to tell. After all, he knew her even less well than Dewey. When she'd been in the manor, he'd ignored her. He was aware of her in the same way that you are vaguely aware of a mildly interesting inanimate object. It was there, it might draw your attention on occasion, but otherwise, it could be ignored. Webby hadn't made an impression on him until after she'd vanished.

"Aye, I am," he said. It was a good thing business had embellished his ability to lie, because he wouldn't have been able to pull it off otherwise. Dewey snarled and Scrooge opened the door.

"Give it up, lad," he said. "There's a reason I'm telling her this."

"But you're not telling her the truth-" he started and he slapped his free hand over Dewey's mouth. If this had been one of his brothers, he probably would've licked it. However, with Scrooge, who was an adult, he wasn't going to. Instead, he would glower.

"Let me talk to Dewey," Webby hissed. She could tell something was going on, but not what it was.

"No. You lost that privilege when you attacked your grandmother," he said. "I don't want you anywhere near my family."

"...oh…" Webby said, more an exhalation of anguish than speech. "I see."

"Damn it, let me talk to her!" Dewey snapped, thrusting Scrooge's hand aside. "You're not telling her the truth, Uncle Scrooge! You have to let her talk to me!"

"I don't have to do anything of the sort," Scrooge snarled. "You are forgetting who the adult is in this situation!"

"And you're forgetting that she needs to talk to someone who actually cares about her," Dewey shot back. "I know that when she lived here, you didn't care. You treated her like a piece of furniture. You didn't even notice she was gone, did you? Not until Mrs. Beakley came back without her and tried to quit."

Scrooge didn't know how he knew that, but it was possible Mrs. Beakley had told him. Either that or he'd made a very shrewd guess. Whatever the case, Scrooge glowered at the middle triplet. Where were his brothers, anyway? He hadn't seen them all day. That couldn't be good.

"Let me talk to him," Webby murmured, but there was no conviction in her voice. She sounded like he'd struck her a mortal blow.

"No," he said. "I don't want you anywhere near my family, not even over the phone, ever again. You've done enough damage, Webbigail Vanderquack."

"I'm sorry…" Webby whispered and then hung up. As Scrooge took the phone away from his ear, Dewey glowered at him like he'd killed his first pet. That oddly reminded him of his own first pet, which hadn't been a pet at all but a bunch of hair. That wasn't the point right now, but damn did the mind wander when you were older.

"She'll never call me back now," Dewey snapped. "She'll never talk to any of us ever again. Is that what you wanted? To drive her off?"

"No," he said. "You're too young to understand."

"I'm fifteen!" he snapped back. At Scrooge's upraised eyebrows, he amended his statement. "Almost. I'm almost fifteen. And she's just a kid too. How could you do that to her?"

"I need to know who she is when she has nothing left to lose," he said quietly. "I need to know what she's like when the chips are down and everything is out of reach for her. Who is she when everything is against her?"

"This isn't some sort of business deal or game!" he objected. "You're really hurting her."

"Aye, perhaps I am," he admitted, looking Dewey in the eyes. "But I want her to come home too, or hadn't that occurred to you, laddie? I owe her for how I mistreated her when she was here. And I need to know whether she can be trusted to return to the manor after attacking her grandmother."

"Of course she can be trusted!" Dewey exploded. "How can you say that?"

"How can you say she can when you barely know her?" he countered.

"Because I have a feeling about her," he said and Scrooge narrowed his gaze.

"And with which part of the body is that feeling coming from?" he asked.

"My heart…" he said and then grimaced. "Ew, gross. I didn't mean what you think I meant. I'm not looking at her like that. How could you look at her and not feel bad for her?"

"He's Scrooge McDuck," Louie said, entering the room. "And he sees all the angles too. She could be playing you, Dewey."

"She isn't," he protested. "She wasn't. I know what being lied to looks like."

"No, you don't," Louie said. "I've lied to you and manipulated you for years and you've never caught on. I love you, bro, but you're pretty naive."

"And FOWL would have taught her how to lie and manipulate with the best of them," Scrooge said.

"That's not-she's not!" Dewey protested. He was losing ground and he knew it. How much longer did he think he could defend Webby when he barely even knew her? In a way, Scrooge was proud of his grand-nephew for being so persistent. On the other hand, if he contacted Webby again after this and told her the truth before she had a chance to meet her grandmother again, he could blow the whole plan.

Hmm, come to think of it, why had FOWL permitted her phone to work again? Where was she? She couldn't be in Siberia. FOWL's HQ had, according to SHUSH, been located in one of the most remote parts of Russia. Cell phone service there had to be non-existent. That meant she had to have moved to a more populated region. But where?

Damn, maybe he shouldn't have hung up on her when he had. Maybe he shouldn't have upset her so much that she had no intention of calling back. He couldn't trace the phone call if she refused to speak with him. And after the conversation they'd just had, he saw no reason for her to speak to him again.

"She totally is," Louie said. "It's one of the oldest con jobs in the book. Pretend to be helpless just so someone can take advantage of you. I've even done it myself a few times."

"Not like this," Dewey objected.

"So you admit that Webby's running a con game?" Louie countered and Dewey groaned.

"Don't confuse your brother, lad," Scrooge reprimanded. He stared at the phone and then tossed it back to Dewey, who caught it and then immediately redialed Webby's number. The phone rang five times and she didn't answer. It was as he'd suspected.

Dewey looked crushed. He shouldered his way past his brother and great-uncle and stormed off somewhere. Scrooge turned to Louie.

"Do you really think she's trying to connive us?" he inquired quietly.

"I don't know," he answered honestly and then shrugged. "I mean, I guess it's possible, but a lot of the stuff that I've seen her do is hard to fake. I don't trust her."

"Nor do I, laddie," he said and then frowned. "We'll see if this gambit works. If it doesn't, then we'll have to think of something else."

He wasn't sure what, however.

* * *

Webby let the phone ring unimpeded, no matter how many times Dewey tried to call her. Scrooge had made it clear he didn't want her around. She didn't tell Lena this and she kept her poker face up, but inside, she was devastated. Dewey was the last person who would care if-when-something happened to her and Scrooge was depriving her of him.

Maybe Dewey didn't want anything to do with her. Maybe Scrooge was doing this for Dewey's benefit. But Webby didn't think so. Why else would he have been so desperate to speak with her, if not because he wanted her around?

Damn, Webby was so tired of adults interfering in her life. She had arrived in LAX and was walking with Lena. FOWL used public airports but didn't land at any of the usual gates. They used private gates that were only unlocked for them.

Within LAX, people were chatting happily about whatever. Lena was examining her phone and then texted something to someone. She frowned, stopping Webby in her tracks. They were on a moving walkway, which Webby found vexing because people on it literally stood still. Shouldn't they be moving? Wasn't that the point of moving walkways, to get people to where they were going faster?

It was a text from Dewey and it was addressed to her, not Lena. Dewey must have figured she was in contact with Lena; either that or he'd been hoping. It was a sad face emoji and then a picture of his face. Webby pushed the phone aside. It was distracting. He was distracting. If FOWL was right, then if she eliminated him, she'd stop being a subpar wannabe agent.

But she couldn't kill him. She knew she couldn't. To think anything else was a pipe dream. She could probably count her life in days, if not hours.

Black Heron had gotten off the plane with them, but gone in a different direction. Webby didn't know where she was going, because all traffic headed one way after exiting the plane-toward the airport's main exit. The fact she didn't know what Heron was up to upset her stomach further; she hadn't eaten anything on the plane ride here. Of course, the food service had been excellent, but she couldn't keep anything down. At the end of this trip, she'd be dead. What was the point in enjoying food? It'd probably turn to ash in her mouth anyway.

"Okay, I've never seen Dewey this pathetic," Lena said. "Just talk to him. Please. He's blowing up my phone and it's annoying."

As Webby watched, multiple messages materialized, one after another.

"I don't want to talk to him," she said quietly. "Mr. McDuck made it quite clear I'm not welcome in the manor or with the Duck family. So I'm respecting his wishes and staying away."

"And how do you plan on doing that if your mission is to attack Dewey?" Lena pointed out. "Black Heron's going to get suspicious if you don't at least attempt to make contact."

"She knows I don't…" Webby looked down and sighed. "She knows I can't."

She stepped off the walkway with Lena at her side. Her chest ached again and her throat was tight. She hadn't had anything to drink lately, nothing more than the bare minimum, in the hopes that not drinking might prevent her from crying. Oh, she was so sick of weeping. It made her weak; then again, she wasn't going to get much stronger anyway. There was no point in it. She'd met FOWL's worst assignment and she'd failed. Even if she'd killed Agent 22, she wasn't FOWL material.

Lena texted something back to Dewey and Webby glanced over.

"I thought you weren't interested?" Lena said with a catty look in her eyes.

"I'm not," Webby said and looked away. She silenced and decided whatever Lena and Dewey were talking about didn't concern her. Besides, if he was talking to Lena, then he couldn't possibly be aiming any of the conversation at her. That was all to the good. Better for Dewey to forget she existed, anyway. She'd end up hurting him otherwise, one way or another.

"You seem like you are," Lena said, who had the masterful skill of walking and texting at the same time. She must've had a lot of experience with it. Webby knew she'd have probably walked into something by now. Then again, she didn't know how to text. No one had ever taught her. She'd stick out like a sore thumb in today's society...if she weren't about to perish anyway.

Lena sighed, exasperated, and held the phone out to her. It'd vibrated, but Webby couldn't distinguish between vibrations meaning a new text and vibrations equaling a phone call. It appeared this was the latter and she shook the phone at her.

"I don't want to talk to him," she said dully. "Can't we just please focus on getting back to Duckburg?"

Lena put him on speaker. What part of "I don't want to talk to him" was she not getting? Why was she being so interfering?

"Webby, your grandmother's alive," Dewey said.

"I know," she said quietly, breaking her own promise not to speak with him. "Scrooge told me. She's dying."

"She's not," he said. "She's recovering. I swear it, Webs."

"I don't believe you," she said. She didn't want to believe him. After all, she didn't need any more false hope. Plus, if her grandmother was alive, that didn't change the situation. In fact, it might expedite her death. Black Heron would have her on the chopping block that much faster if Webby had failed to actually kill her intended kill.

"It's true," Dewey said, oblivious to Webby's turmoil. "Lena said you're in LAX and you're headed to Duckburg."

Webby glowered at her. "You did what?"

"You really don't have the first clue about how cell phones work, do you, pink?" Lena said with a smirk. "Yes, I told him. I know the Duck family can help."

"Scrooge made it clear he doesn't want to help. That it's my fault that my grandmother is dying and that I need to stay away from them," Webby said flatly. "That's what's going on. I don't want to talk to Dewey. I don't want to think about him. Just hang up already. Or I'm leaving you here."

"You don't know your way around Calisto," Lena pointed out. "I lived on the streets for years as a kid. You spent your entire childhood in FOWL HQ. How would you know where to go? Plus, you don't have GPS or a map on that cell phone. It's, like, the only non-smartphone in existence right now. No one uses a phone that primitive. No wonder FOWL gave it to you."

"I was taught survival skills," Webby bit off. "I can find my own way. I don't need your help."

Lena held up her hands in a defensive gesture. "Hey, hey. I'm trying to help."

"Don't," Webby said. "I told you what you can do. You can disavow any knowledge of my plan and that's it."

Throughout the conversation, she'd somehow forgotten that Dewey was still on speaker. Therefore, when he spoke again, she startled, looking around guiltily as if forgetting too how phones worked. It wasn't really her fault she didn't have a ton of experience with telecommunication.

"What plan? Why are you here?" Dewey asked.

"It doesn't matter," she said and, unlike her response to Lena earlier, she didn't intend to expound on that to him. The fewer people who knew, the better. Dewey might try to do something stupid like protect her and that'd be fatal to him. Then she would die and brought him down with her. It wasn't worth it.

They weren't star-crossed lovers, were they? Like Romeo and Juliet? She'd discovered Shakespeare one day when she'd been wandering through FOWL's library. It was considered a cautionary tale about how much emotions can destroy you and how you should only use emotions against someone else as a weapon.

"It does matter," he snapped. "Webby, what's going on?"

Webby spied the "end call" icon on Lena's phone and hit it. Then, with her head held high but her heart heavy, she headed for the exit with Lena following behind. She pretended that Lena just happened to be going the same way as her. Otherwise, she didn't know her at all.

"Come on, damn it!" Lena snapped. "You're just as stubborn as the boys."

"I told you I didn't want to talk to him and you put me on speaker," Webby growled, whirling on her. "I don't want him involved in this."

"You don't want him involved even though your mission explicitly involves him?" Lena repeated in a deadpan voice. "You have no idea what you're doing, do you?"

"I already know what I intend to do," she said curtly. "And I don't need your help."


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Webby might have given up, but Lena has refused to. Mrs. Beakley hasn't given up on Webby and neither has Dewey.

Ditching Lena was harder than she thought. For one thing, now that the older teenager knew Webby was on a suicide mission, she refused to leave her side. She was worried about Webby’s well-being, which Webby got a sense she didn’t do very often for virtual strangers. While Webby was touched, she didn’t want Lena involved. The more plausible deniability Lena had, the better Webby liked it. But she couldn’t explain that to Lena, because Lena flat-out refused to hear it.  
  
So here she was, waiting in the diner with Lena. They’d ordered milkshakes, but Webby had no appetite. She wanted to put her head down and sleep; she hadn’t gotten any more sleep on the plane and between the fatigue, the hunger, and the despair, she was running on fumes. Her reflexes would be off and if her grandmother was still alive, which seemed to Webby to be a pretty big “if”, she’d be helpless before her.  
  
“You’re just going to walk like a lamb to the slaughter,” Lena said, prodding Webby with her straw. Chocolate milkshake dripped off the end. Webby had never had a hamburger. It was funny the thoughts that occurred to you when you could measure your life in days, if not hours. Black Heron would jump on her when she failed to kill Dewey.  
  
“SHUSH would consider me an enemy operative,” Webby said. “FOWL definitely does. FOWL would kill me because I know too much and I’m too incompetent for them. SHUSH would pump me for information and then kill me when I outlived my usefulness.”  
  
“You really don’t know how SHUSH works, do you? They’re the  _good_  guys.”  
  
“So?” She really didn’t feel like having this argument with her. “Don’t all organizations operate the same?”  
  
“You’re Agent 22’s granddaughter,” Lena said, pressing the point. “Your mother was a SHUSH agent. You’re practically an honorary agent. There’s no way SHUSH would hurt you.”  
  
“I’m also Steelbeak’s daughter,” she said, implacable. “I’ve been raised by FOWL. I’m the enemy.”  
  
“You were  _brainwashed_  by FOWL,” she corrected. “There’s a difference.”  
  
“SHUSH couldn’t protect my grandmother from me or my mother from my father. They won’t be able to help me, even if I wanted to, which I don’t.”  
  
Lena let out a frustrated hiss. Webby could tell her defeatist attitude was getting to her. It wasn’t like Webby to have capitulated so quickly, but she was worn down to the dregs. Her normal effervescent personality was one of the first things Black Heron had obliterated. She’d been under FOWL’s thumb for so long it was hard to imagine an alternative.  
  
“Don’t you want to be saved?”  
  
Webby stared at the placemat. She reached into her pocket and brought out the small scrap of paper Dewey had given her. Mr. McDuck had been explicit in his demands for her never to contact him or the rest of the family ever again. The damage was done. SHUSH wasn’t going to save her, even if they could.  
  
“Mr. McDuck doesn’t want me talking to anyone in the family,” Webby said quietly. “My mission is over before it started. Even if I could lure Dewey out, there’s no point.”  
  
Lena poked her with a straw again. “You may not be able to contact Dewey, but I can. Or did you forget that I have the boys’ numbers?”  
  
“But Mr. McDuck--” she started and Lena shook her head.  
  
“Uncle Scrooge, I don’t know what he’s pulling, but if you don’t talk to that lovesick boy right now, Dewey is going to leave me with no space on my phone,” Lena said. “And since I have 512 GB hard drive, that’s an impressive amount of messages. Just talk to him, all right?”  
  
Webby pulled out her own phone, which she had shut off. It rang when she restarted it and she jumped, startled. She expected it to be Dewey’s number or a local exchange. It wasn’t. It was a restricted number, which made her think it was FOWL checking up on her. Her heart lurched and she excused herself to the bathroom to take the call.  
  
“Hello?” she said dully. She was envisioning Steelbeak or Black Heron calling to reprimand her for not having started the mission yet. Therefore, when a different voice filled her ear, she almost dropped the phone in shock. She fumbled, caught it, and brought it back to her ear.  
  
“Hello, Webbigail.”  
  
“Who...who are you?” she asked. “How did you get this number?”  
  
“I work with Scrooge McDuck. He loaned them Dewey’s phone and we were able to extract your number through triangulation after you left it on long enough--Dewey said you had spyware installed on it. It was still running even when your phone was off and sent messages back from FOWL and to your current location.”  
  
Right. That didn’t explain who he was, even if it did explain how he’d gotten the number. Her heart pounded. Why would Scrooge McDuck be helping SHUSH locate her? Didn’t he want nothing more to do with her? Shouldn’t he be repudiating her? Unless...her grandmother wasn’t really dead, like Dewey said. Or there was another game the older duck was playing.  
  
“What do you want?” she said. She could practically taste her heartbeat in her mouth.  
  
“I want a chance to chat,” he said. “I am Ludwig Von Drake. You may have heard of me. I assisted your grandmother and Scrooge McDuck in the late 60s.”  
  
“Why are you telling me this if you know the phone is bugged?”  
  
“Oh, that,” Von Drake said dismissively. “As long as you’re talking to me, the signal between here and FOWL is jammed. We have that kind of technology. But as soon as you hang up, the spyware will be active again.”  
  
“Won’t FOWL be suspicious that their spyware stopped working for a few minutes?” she pointed out.  
  
“Perhaps,” he said. “But I’m hoping to mitigate the damage from that.”  
  
She sighed, trying to still her racing heart. Her hands were shaking. Ludwig Von Drake worked for SHUSH. He was their chief technology expert and in charge of other things as well, but FOWL didn’t know what, exactly. Her knees buckled and she guided herself to a toilet to perch before she collapsed.  
  
“Now, it seems that we have a problem,” he said quietly. The bathroom door popped open and Lena was standing in the doorway. Damn.  
  
“I’m not ratting out FOWL,” she said, but there was no conviction in her voice.  
  
“We’re not asking you to,” he replied. “We are, however, asking whether you might consider exchanging information in exchange for protection from FOWL. I understand that you’ve been given a distasteful mission, though the details of which elude me at present.”  
  
Lena was watching her. Webby had forgotten to shut and lock the stall door.  
  
“You couldn’t protect my mother,” she pointed out.  
  
“Agent 22 never told us that Wren Beakley was pregnant with Steelbeak’s child. We could have protected her if we had known.”  
  
Webby mulled this over. She didn’t know what to say and she wished Lena wasn’t watching her with a keen expression on her face. Had she put SHUSH up to it? No, she wasn’t a SHUSH agent. From the sounds of things, Scrooge McDuck was or had been. But why should he help her?  
  
“Mr. McDuck told me that he didn’t want me to have anything to do with him or his family,” Webby said flatly.  
  
“That’s because he wanted SHUSH to speak with you first,” Von Drake said. “He wanted you to understand what your options are.”  
  
She suppressed a sigh. She had no desire to speak about her mission with a total stranger, much less the enemy. Then again, if she was defecting from FOWL, then that made SHUSH her ally. Was she willing to turn traitor if it meant her life? Was selling out the organization that had raised her, albeit as a weapon against SHUSH, worth it?  
  
Steelbeak and Black Heron had never been affectionate with her. The closest Steelbeak came to affection was praising her when she did what he wanted. It wasn’t anything to build a relationship on. She’d grown up lonely and unloved. For years, she’d been told she was lucky to be at FOWL, lucky to be trained as she was and to be used as she was. That many people would kill to have that chance.  
  
“And what are they?” she said dully.  
  
“We know where FOWL’s headquarters are thanks to Darkwing Duck’s tracking device. We’d have to ask you to tell us to ensure that your information matches ours--we won’t tolerate lying.”  
  
“And you’d do what? Kill me?” she scoffed. Lena’s reprimand popped into her mind.  
  
“Good heavens, no! Where the devil did you get that idea?” Von Drake exclaimed, dismayed. He paused. “Oh...I see. FOWL would have killed operatives for less.  
  
“I can understand your reluctance. FOWL raised you, nurtured you.”  
  
 _Abused me._  
  
“I’ll send my number to your friend Lena’s phone,” he said. Lena’s phone was in her hand a second later and she frowned at it and the text that had popped up. “Call me back after you’ve thought this over. We can protect you. You don’t have to suffer with FOWL any longer.”  
  
Webby shook her head. She wasn’t good enough for SHUSH. Or was she? She didn’t know. She’d already failed to kill Agent 22 and she was going to fail to kill Dewey Duck. Morose, she stared at the floor.  
  
“Think about it,” he coaxed. “We’ll be in touch, Webbigail.”  
  
The call ended and Webby stared at her phone, which was back to running hot and humming slightly. The spyware app, which she couldn’t see but which she assumed was running, was probably reporting back to FOWL again. She drew a deep, bracing breath and stared ahead of her. So, Mr. McDuck had been helping her by devastating her. She wasn’t sure she understood.  
  
“Mr. McDuck told me not to contact him or his family and then SHUSH calls me out of nowhere,” Webby said to Lena, who was barricading the door.  
  
“He’s a good guy,” Lena said with a shrug and a smile. “Okay, sometimes he can be an asshole, but everyone can. And he’s kinda selfish and myopic, but he really cares about his family and the people he considers family. And he’s been around your grandmother for so long that she’s family. And you are too by extension.”  
  
“He routinely alienates his family?” Webby asked, nonplussed.  
  
“For ten years, Scrooge and Donald didn’t talk after Della, Donald’s sister, vanished,” Lena said. “It’s kind of a tradition.”  
  
That sounded vaguely familiar and Webby stifled a groan. “I see.”  
  
“Are you gonna come out of here? Because I just pissed off this really fat lady by locking the door behind me,” she said.  
  
As if on cue, pounding started and Lena smirked.  
  
“Told you.”  
  
“I’m coming out,” she said. Her head was spinning. She needed a few minutes, maybe a few hours, to process this. SHUSH was reaching out to her both because she had intel they wanted and, because, why? Out of the goodness of their hearts? Did she believe that? She supposed she had to--they were the good guys.  
  
Pushing herself to her feet, feeling shaky, she headed for the door and Lena unlocked it. As soon as she had, the door flew in her face and Lena growled, stepping back before it collided with her again. She flipped the fat lady off as she darted into the stall.  
  
“Are you going to be okay?” Lena asked when they sat back down at their booth with their shakes.  
  
“I don’t know,” she said, but she pulled the milkshake nearer to her anyway. She was suddenly feeling a little peckish.  
  


* * *

  
  
“There,” Scrooge announced. “The ball is in her court.”  
  
“I still think I ought to call her,” Mrs. Beakley huffed. “She deserves to know the truth, Mr. McDuck.”  
  
“And she will once we find out which side she’s on,” he informed her. “But in the meanwhile, let’s see how she plays this.”  
  
“You won’t fight a child, but mind games are all right?” Mrs. Beakley said, exasperated. “She’s been manipulated her entire life. Do you have to compound it?”  
  
A flicker of doubt crossed his face. She had a point and they both knew it. Scrooge glanced down at his flip phone--Gyro had pulled Webby’s number and passed it along to Ludwig.  
  
“The phone is bugged,” Scrooge said. “We don’t have the technology to override it. Only SHUSH does. And anything she knows, they’ll know. Do you want them to know that you’re alive and well?”  
  
She glowered but desisted. Her gaze went down to her phone and she stared at the contact screen she had up. She’d input Webby’s number, along with a grainy picture of her from the security camera. Scrooge looked over and sighed.  
  
“She’ll make the right decision, Bentina.”  
  
“You’re the one who has no confidence in her,” she fired back. “If you had any faith in her, you wouldn’t be pulling this.”  
  
“I have to know whose side she’s on,” he said defensively. "What if this is a bluff and she’s in FOWL’s pocket?”  
  
“You heard the conversation she had too. What do you think?” she threw back at him.  
  
“I think the results were inconclusive at best. I’m sorry.”  
  
She burned to speak with her personally. She had to know what Webby really thought, but Mr. McDuck was right. If she called her, then whatever she’d said would be recorded and used against them. The only way they could have a conversation would be in code and FOWL had changed its codes so many times that it was hard to tell which ones Webby knew and which ones she didn’t.  
  
“I’m going to see Ludwig Von Drake and see whether I can contact her directly.”  
  
“No,” he snapped. “I forbid it. Not until after we’ve determined if she’ll accept the offer.”  
  
Mrs. Beakley simmered in rage. She understood why Scrooge was doing this, but she resented it nonetheless.  
  
“As soon as she does, I’m speaking with her,” she said, expecting him to argue with her.  
  
“I won’t stand in your way,” he said. He steepled his fingers together and stared at the phone. “But don’t expect her to agree right away. Or at all.”  
  


* * *

  
  
After much debate back and forth, Lena finally let Webby go on her own for a while. Webby went to the old playground and sat on a swing. She kept taking out and then putting away her phone. Since SHUSH had called, she hadn’t shut it off. She didn’t know what to do about it, though. Or about SHUSH’s offer.  
  
She wanted to call Dewey and ask him to come, but Scrooge’s reprimand dissuaded her. Her phone vibrated; Dewey was calling her, but it could be a trap. Her heart ached. Should she answer it or not? If she let it go to voicemail, then she’d be able to replay his voice. But if she answered, she’d be able to talk to him.  
  
She was mooning over him and a part of her didn’t care. She answered the call and half expected Scrooge McDuck to be on the other end.  
  
“Webby?” Dewey asked, as though someone else might have pilfered the phone.  
  
“Hi,” she said.  
  
“What’s going on? Lena won’t tell me anything, just that you’re on some ‘super secret mission’ and you’re really upset about it.”  
  
“I can’t tell you over the phone,” she said. There. If anyone from FOWL was listening in, they would think she was luring Dewey into a trap, not that she was going to tell him something confidential. “Can you meet me?”  
  
“Okay...sure. Where?”  
  
“The old playground,” she said and swung back and forth. She was exhausted, so tired that her tired had a tired. She was exhausted enough for the rest of the week. Not that it mattered. She’d be dead soon anyway.  
  
Or not, depending on whether she accepted SHUSH’s deal.  
  
“I’ll be right there,” he promised.  
  
She nodded, forgetting he couldn’t see it, and hung up. Looking for a place to hide, she curled up in a children’s plastic house and waited for him. At least, that had been the original plan. Within minutes of closing her eyes, she fell fast asleep.

* * *

  
  
Scrooge had told her not to come, but she’d come anyway, along with SHUSH agents and Dewey. She needed a wheelchair to get around and she maneuvered herself near the small house in which Webby was holed up. They’d found her fairly easily, even without a tracker. She was crying in her sleep, begging Steelbeak for something.  
  
It broke Mrs. Beakley’s heart to hear Webby so distraught. She was loath to wake her and return her to reality; she didn't know which was worse for her granddaughter. Webby’s beak quivered and she had an overpowering urge to sweep the girl into her arms. Beside her, Dewey was trying to figure out how he was going to fit inside the house. Mrs. Beakley jerked him back.  
  
“Don’t crowd her,” she cautioned. “She already feels cornered.”  
  
“Please...don’t hurt him... _please_ …” Webby pleaded. “I’m sorry about Agent 22...I’m sorry I couldn’t kill him…”  
  
“Kill who?” Dewey asked and Webby’s eyes flew open. She hissed, whipping her head around. When her gaze fell upon her grandmother, she froze.  
  
“Granny?” she whispered, swiping at her face. Tears had left streaks on her cheeks. “Mr. McDuck said you were dying. What are you doing here?”  
  
“I most certainly am not dying!” Mrs. Beakley said, indignant. “I came to talk to you.”  
  
Webby looked around, poking her head out from the house’s window. What she saw made her reach toward her dagger. She climbed through the window and back out, eyes darting to the SHUSH agents that had arrived with them. Darkwing Duck was there, along with Gosalyn, and a few others Webby probably wouldn’t know.  
  
“I’m not sure this was such a great idea…” Dewey said.  
  
“I asked you to meet me here and you trapped me?” Webby cried.  
  
“Wait, wait,” Dewey protested, holding his hands up defensively. “I was just as against this as you are. It wasn’t my idea. But Mrs. B thought maybe if you spoke to her and other SHUSH agents, you’d think about the offer Von Drake made and come to the right conclusion.”  
  
“And if I don’t agree, you’ll kill me. Is that it?” Webby growled.  
  
“No, no!” Dewey said, seriously alarmed. He glanced at Mrs. Beakley.  
  
“We would never!” Mrs. Beakley said. “Webby, we’re here because we love you. We want you to come home with us. And try not to poison me this time, dear.”  
  
A strange expression flitted across Webby’s face.  
  
“I don’t know if I’d use the word ‘love’...I really like you,” Dewey said and Bentina glowered at the younger duck. Dewey offered her a weak smile. Webby’s gaze flew from the two of them to their surroundings, taking in the others and seeming to assess whether she could escape. She seemed to reach the conclusion she couldn’t because her shoulders sank and she slumped.  
  
“You want to know what my mission is, huh?” Webby said in a dull voice. She threw her weapons aside and stepped closer to Dewey. Mrs. Beakley held up her hands to prevent Darkwing Duck or Gosalyn from interfering. Webby halted a few feet short of Dewey anyway.  
  
“It’s you,” she said to Dewey. “You’re my mission.”  
  
“To...kidnap me? Like you did Lena?” Dewey asked, completely baffled.  
  
Webby shook her head. Lena was approaching from the side and she glanced at her before her gaze hooked onto Dewey.  
  
“To kill you,” she whispered. “And when I fail at that, FOWL will kill me instead.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Webby capitulates and turns her back on her father in favor of her grandmother and Dewey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter. Longer one coming on Christmas Day.

Mrs. Beakley shot Lena a warning look. She should have known that the older teenager was withholding information; Lena was still secretive, even after all these years. Dewey, in the meanwhile, moved closer to Webby, despite Mrs. Beakley’s admonishment that he shouldn’t approach a cornered creature. Webby’s eyes flashed and her grandmother knew that she didn’t need the weapons. If she chose to, she could kill Dewey with her own two hands.

 

“You’re serious,” Dewey said after a minute. “You’re not really going to kill me, are you?”

 

“No,” Webby said and the pain etched in her features was so acute that Mrs. Beakley found herself ignoring her previous advice and wheeling up to her. Webby balled her fists, released them, and balled them again. She was working to calm her breathing and her eyes were bloodshot. How much sleep had Webby gotten in the last few days? She also had a haunted look; FOWL, particularly Black Heron, would have done anything to cash in on Webby’s failure.

 

“SHUSH already approached you with a counteroffer, right?” Gosalyn said and Webby’s gaze reluctantly traveled to the redheaded girl.

 

“Yes.” It was like they were dragging the words out of her one piece at a time.

 

“Are you going to accept?” Gosalyn asked. “It’s not like FOWL has done you any favors.”

 

“They raised me,” Webby said, but she couldn’t meet Gosalyn’s eyes.

 

“After they kidnapped you,” Dewey huffed. “You can’t count that. They only raised you to be a weapon, a tool at their disposal. You’re so much more than that.”

  
  
“Am I?” she countered. “How would you know, Dewford? You’ve only known me for a few days. How could you know anything about me?”

 

“I can tell. I have this feeling,” he pressed. “Like I ought to know you. And like we were meant to be together.”

 

He flushed, seeming to realize he was confessing this in front of a large audience. He stepped back, chagrined. Webby’s gaze hooked onto him. She couldn’t seem to look away.

 

“You still feel that way, even though I’ve been ordered to kill you?” she asked softly.

 

“You’re not going to kill me,” he replied. “You already said so.”

 

Webby drew a breath to steady herself and clenched and unclenched her fists. Mrs. Beakley watched her granddaughter carefully. She could tell that Webby’s nerves were frayed, if not shot entirely. If she had known Dewey was going to be this foolhardy, she wouldn’t have permitted him to come. Honestly, confessing such a thing in front of SHUSH agents and to Webby when they didn’t know what she intended to do. Didn’t he have any sense of timing?

 

“I need more time,” she said. She also probably needed a place to sleep that wasn’t outside on the cold hard ground. Her beak quivered and she swallowed hard. Though she was speaking to all of them, she couldn’t break the connection between herself and Dewey. He must’ve made quite an impression on her.

 

“We’re not the ones rushing you,” Mrs. Beakley said quietly. “But Black Heron, I imagine, will be very cross to find out that you had an opportunity and you squandered it.”

 

Dewey flinched. “But she said she wasn’t going to kill me! She was having nightmares about it!”

 

Webby winced. She reached for daggers she was no longer carrying and bent to retrieve one. She toyed with it, more as something to do with her hands than because she intended to use it. Yes, she was definitely off-kilter.

 

“You were begging someone not to hurt us,” Dewey pressed and Mrs. Beakley cleared her throat. Dewey was being exceedingly foolish by pressing the matter.

 

Webby was scanning the area again to find the exits. Her back was up against the wall and although no one prevented her from re-arming herself, no one moved to allow her egress either. She panted, eyes darting wildly around again. Fight or flight must have kicked in and she wanted to run, but running was no longer an option.

 

“Relax,” Gosalyn said. “We’re not here to hurt you.”

 

“We don’t attack children,” Darkwing added.

 

“Unlike FOWL,” Gosalyn muttered and Mrs. Beakley growled, not appreciating the reminder. Webby’s posture loosened slightly, her grandmother’s anger on her behalf seeming to settle her. She was still twitchy and standing like she wanted to bolt, bouncing on the balls of her heels.

 

“What have you got to lose by joining us?” Dewey asked. “We’re offering you a home, a safe place to sleep, and a chance to be yourself. If you stay with FOWL…”

 

They’d kill her. Mrs. Beakley’s heart clenched painfully in her chest. She wanted to rush over to Webby and clutch her tightly, but she didn’t want to make any sudden movements. Anything might set the girl off.

 

“SHUSH will protect you,” Gosalyn added. “If you let them.”

 

Webby clenched and unclenched her fists again. She was panting, sounding close to hyperventilating again. Lena stepped closer and Webby jumped back, looking like she wanted to punch the other girl out. Like Dewey, Lena held her hands up in a defensive gesture.

 

“Hold on there,” Lena said. “Breathe, Webs.”

 

Webby ran--or rather, tried to. Gosalyn tackled her around the middle and Webby squirmed out from under. Not looking where she was going, she collided forcefully with Dewey, who held her tightly. Whatever her impulse was, it didn’t extend to attacking Dewey to free herself. Or perhaps Dewey holding her prompted a different response. He had her wrists in his hands and they were beak to beak.

 

“Calm down,” Dewey said. “Breathe. We’re not going to let anything bad happen to you, all right? I promise.”

 

“You can’t promise,” she said and there was a thread of hysteria in her voice. “SHUSH didn’t protect my mom from Steelbeak, they didn’t rescue me from FOWL, and they didn’t do anything to stop me from hurting Granny.”

 

“SHUSH didn’t know your mother had such an intimate relationship with Steelbeak,” Mrs. Beakley said, approaching the two teenagers. Gosalyn had dirt on her face, which she was scrubbing off with her sleeve despite Darkwing’s irritated groan. That was the sigh of a man who had to do his daughter’s laundry.

 

“And we’ve been trying to find you for ten years,” she said. “FOWL moved its base after your abduction and we couldn’t find you until they let you slip your leash a little. As for the last, I let you get close enough to hurt me. I have no one to blame but myself for that.”

 

Webby froze in Dewey’s arms and he released her wrists to hug her tightly.

 

“Did you really think we’d give up on you?” Mrs. Beakley asked softly. “I love you.”

 

Webby looked down at the words and Dewey cupped her cheek to force her to look back up again. Then, in an epic misunderstanding of timing, he kissed her.

 

“What is this, Romeo and Juliet?” Gosalyn muttered. The other agents politely looked away from the display while Gosalyn rolled her eyes.

 

When they broke apart, Webby said, “Okay.”

 

“Okay what?” Dewey said, baffled.

 

“I’ll give it a try,” she said. She was still shaking and Mrs. Beakley rolled forward to touch her hand. Webby trembled at the touch too.

 

“I’m sorry, Granny,” Webby said. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

 

“We’ll worry about that later,” Mrs. Beakley said, but she smiled at her granddaughter nonetheless. “For now, I believe we have bigger problems.”

 

In the dark, it was hard to tell, but Mrs. Beakley was fairly sure that Webby’s shaking wasn’t just due to tension. She was crying and clinging to Dewey. Dewey placed his arms around her waist and cuddled her close. She pressed her face into his neck.

 

“Now, we need to talk strategy,” Mrs. Beakley said. “After you’ve gotten some sleep.”

 

* * *

 

 

“What? No. Why is she staying here?” Louie protested.

 

“She belongs here,” Mrs. Beakley snapped. “And that’s the last I’ll say on the matter.”

 

“What did Uncle Scrooge say? This is his house,” Louie pointed out.

 

She sighed. Scrooge hadn’t been pleased either, but after hearing the whole story, both from Webby and from her grandmother, he’d reluctantly agreed to let Webby stay in the manor. She’d been so exhausted that even though her bed was too small, Webby had curled up in it and passed out.

 

“He agreed to let her stay,” Mrs. Beakley said.

 

“But is she really reformed?” Huey pressed.

 

“I don’t think she was ever truly FOWL’s to begin with,” Mrs. Beakley replied. “She just put on a show.”

 

“Seemed pretty convincing to me,” Louie griped. He frowned. “Still...she’s not the type to con someone. She’s still got too good a heart for that.”

 

“It’s amazing she was able to hold onto it, considering what FOWL’s like,” Huey agreed. “She’s still sleeping?”

 

“She’ll probably sleep through the day,” Mrs. Beakley said. “When she awakens, we’ll discuss what comes next.”

 

“Which is…?” Huey asked and Mrs. Beakley’s eyes gleamed.

 

“I want revenge for what they’ve done to her,” she said. “And I expect she’s none too happy with them either.”

 


	13. The Echo Chorus

Webby awoke disoriented and reached for her weapons. They were missing and she bolted upright, staring around her. Sunlight came in through the window on an unfamiliar room with a too small bed. Heart pounding, she jumped to her feet and scanned her surroundings. A knock came at the door and she lunged, yanking it open and grabbing the person by the collar.

 

“What am I doing here and where are my weapons?” she demanded.

 

“Woah, intense in the morning,” Dewey said. “Maybe I should’ve sent Lena to wake you up.”

 

“Dewey?” Webby said, releasing him. How had he penetrated FOWL HQ? Something didn’t make sense.

 

“Last time I checked,” he said. “And, uh, I think your grandmother took your weapons away. She and Uncle Scrooge seemed to think it was a bad idea for you to walk around McDuck Manor armed.”

 

The pieces slipped back into place. She had agreed to work with SHUSH or at least consider the possibility. She had returned to her old bedroom and slept in a child-sized bed. Her grandmother was alive and well and Dewey...Dewey had kissed her.

 

“Told you that you should’ve asked someone else to wake her up,” Huey called. “She was trained by FOWL. She probably doesn’t get pleasant wake-up calls.”

 

Webby relaxed her guard minutely. “How long was I out?”

 

“A day,” Huey said. “You must’ve really needed the sleep. There’s something you should see.”

 

“Does it involve my weapons?” she said, testy. “I don’t like walking around unarmed.”

 

“You don’t need weapons against anyone in this house,” Huey replied. “And to be honest, all of us would feel a lot better if you didn’t have them.”

 

Webby scowled. She, conversely, would feel much better. However, she didn’t need blades to pose a threat. She wouldn’t pretend that their loss didn’t bother her, though. It was the first time in years she’d awoken without anything remotely resembling weaponry.

 

“Not that we’re saying you’re not lethal without a knife,” Louie called. “Because you’re pretty tough. Also, don’t hurt me again.”

 

“Sorry,” she sighed, though she didn’t entirely mean it. Not having the sheaths at her hips was making her uneasy. She missed her dagger belt more than seemed reasonable.

 

“We checked on you in your sleep,” Dewey said and Webby hissed, tensing up and only relaxing when he cringed. She had no idea how to purport herself around normal people.

  
  
“Mrs. B did, anyway,” Dewey added. “You have a lot of nightmares, she said.”

 

Webby’s gaze fell to the floor. She did have a lot of nightmares. It was rare for her to have pleasant dreams. She thought she might be suffering from some form of PTSD.

 

“So, uh, it turns out that FOWL noticed you disappeared,” Dewey said, in a hurry to change the subject seeing as Webby wasn’t responding. Her gaze shot back up and intensified. Dewey took a cautious step backward. Maybe she was a bit intense. What of it?

 

“Black Heron was here,” Huey added. “She tried to take on Mrs. B and Mrs. B still kicked her butt. Then again, I’m pretty sure Black Heron has a concussion.”

 

Webby laughed. It was cruel and she stopped as soon as she saw the expression on the boys’ faces.

 

“I gave her that concussion,” she said. “She was trying to hurt Lena.”

 

“Oh,” the three said in unison. “Okay.”

 

“Argh! Just because we’re triplets doesn’t mean we have to speak in unison! One, two, three, stop! Antidisestablishmentarianism! Gah! Really?”

 

Webby studied the three of them. She hadn’t had much time to really look at them, seeing as she’d been in the middle of a mission the last time they’d all been together. Aside from their color choices and their hairstyles, they were identical. She still felt like there was something more to Dewey, something beyond his brothers. But then again, she didn’t know any of them very well.

 

“You said Granny took down Black Heron,” she said. It felt weird to say that. “Granny”. She’d always been referred to as Agent 22 at FOWL. “She didn’t let her get away, did she?”

 

“I most certainly did not,” Mrs. Beakley said, coming up behind them. She was no longer in a wheelchair and was walking with a cane. “Gizmoduck picked her up yesterday and she’s spending some time in DPD’s jail cell.”

 

Her eyes narrowed. “I wanted to keep her here for questioning, but Mr. McDuck was afraid I might let my emotions cloud my judgment.”

 

A look of intense loathing crossed her grandmother’s face. Although Webby shared in that hatred, she didn’t think it quite matched hers. If anything, Mrs. Beakley looked homicidal. This didn’t scare her, as she had spent a majority of her time around psychopaths growing up. The boys, however, took another step back.

 

Webby didn’t know who or what Gizmoduck was, but she didn’t think now was the time to ask. Her stomach rumbled; she’d forgotten that prior to passing out, all she’d had to eat was a milkshake, which was just empty calories.

 

“Now, dear, what would you like to eat?” she asked. Webby blinked. Other than her scant experiences at the diner, no one had asked her that. She ate whatever she was served and if she didn’t like it, she didn’t eat. She’d gone a few days without eating once because Steelbeak had canned pork on the menu...pork that had used to be a SHUSH agent. Just thinking about it made her stomach cramp.

 

“I don’t know,” she said. Her mind was racing, returning to the DPD and Black Heron. Black Heron knew she’d failed, then, and had guessed at her location. She would be sending FOWL agents there to corroborate her story. This brief reprieve would only last until someone breached McDuck Manor’s security system. Once it broke, the boys and Scrooge were in danger. She had put them in danger.

 

“SHUSH already figured on Black Heron having a backup plan,” Mrs. Beakley said, watching the play of emotions on her granddaughter’s face. “We’re well prepared for it.”

 

She stepped forward, pushing past Dewey to place a hand on Webby’s shoulder. “We’ll be all right. Take a deep breath, Webby.”

 

Then, as if she couldn’t resist any longer, she hugged her tightly. “I’m sorry...I’ve wanted to do this for ten years...oh, my poor Webbigail…”

 

She choked back tears and Webby didn’t know what to do. The hug did feel nice, though Webby didn’t quite feel the reciprocal emotion. She supposed some part of her must have, to botch killing her, but that part wasn’t strong enough to say she loved her outright. Feeling uncomfortable, she glanced over Mrs. Beakley’s shoulder at the boys and then at Scrooge McDuck, who was approaching and studying her in turn.

 

“Good morning, Webbigail,” he said quietly. “I assume Dewey told you there was something he wanted you to see.”

 

At this, Mrs. Beakley broke off, swallowing her tears. She took a minute to regain her composure.

 

“Yes, he did,” Webby said, relieved when her grandmother released her. Her chest was tight too with an emotion she couldn’t name.

 

“She should eat first,” Mrs. Beakley said, scowling. “I suspect she hasn’t eaten anything in the last few days.”

 

“I thought I was going to die,” Webby admitted, not meeting anyone’s gaze. “I didn’t see the point.”

 

“You knew you weren’t going to kill me, but you came anyway,” Dewey said. He shuffled forward a few steps and clasped her hands. He rubbed his thumb along the top of them. “You could’ve stayed there.”

 

“I would’ve been cutting short what was left of my life,” she said and then, still not looking at him, added, “I wanted to say goodbye.”

 

“No more of that,” Mrs. Beakley said stiffly. “You’re not dying and you’re not going anywhere. Now, come on, all of you. I’m cooking breakfast. You don’t have any preferences, Webby?”

 

Webby shook her head. Her hands were warm where Dewey held them and her heart skipped beats. When he released her, she mourned the lost connection. Her beak tingled in remembrance of the kiss they’d shared.

 

They headed toward the kitchen; the boys had to lead the way because Webby’s memory no longer included the McDuck Manor’s layout. Dewey walked at her side and they picked up Lena along the way. Lena looked tired; she had shadows under her eyes and she covered her mouth when she yawned. She brightened when she saw Webby and, despite herself, Webby smiled back.

 

“I thought you would’ve absconded during the night,” Lena teased and walked at her other side. “I’m glad you’re still here.”

 

Huey and Louie were at her back, perhaps feeling that it was safer if she wasn’t behind them. Mrs. Beakley brought up the whole procession and Mr. McDuck was behind them. He cleared his throat when they reached the hallways leading to the security room (why she remembered that but not where the kitchen was, she couldn’t say). Dewey’s hand brushed Webby’s and she fought the strong temptation to seize his hand and squeeze.

 

He gave affection so readily, without asking for anything in response. Was this what it was like to be normal? To have grown up in a normal household?

 

“Come along, Webbigail. I have to show you something,” he said and, somewhat reluctantly, Webby broke away from the group and trudged after Mr. McDuck into the security section of the manor.

 

* * *

 

 

“I know we haven’t really talked about your choice in girls, Dewey, but, uh, a raised supervillain with a tendency to kick first and ask questions later?” Huey said. “Are you sure?”

 

“She has a good heart,” he insisted.

 

“She does,” Lena agreed and the boys looked at her. She glared back as a warning. “How is that any different than what I did? I betrayed you all to get Uncle Scrooge’s lucky dime.”

 

“You did that against your will,” Huey replied.

 

“Just like Webby joined FOWL against her will,” Lena shot back. “She was pressured into everything she did. I know what it’s like to have your back against the wall and a proverbial gun to your head.”

 

“But do you think she’s capable of being normal?” Louie asked.

 

“I don’t know,” Lena said. They sat in the dining room while Mrs. Beakley made eggs, pancakes, and waffles. It was going to be a huge breakfast, perhaps to compensate for Webby not eating for the last few days. Lena hadn’t skipped meals like that, but then again, she’d never had a definite day she’d die, either. She wondered whether her behavior would’ve been different if she’d had an ultimatum like that instead of what Magica had put her through.

 

They looked up when Della walked in and smiled at them. Lena smiled weakly back. She never knew how to purport herself around the boys’ mother. Della was a warm, adventurous soul, but she was far more outgoing and vivacious than Lena. It was off-putting.

 

“I haven’t seen Mrs. B that happy in a long time,” she said. “What’s going on?”

 

“Webby’s home,” Dewey said and ignored his brothers staring at him. “What? This is her home.”

 

“But she was with FOWL…” Della said, assembling the mental puzzle. “Is she all right? Does she have Stockholm Syndrome?”

 

“It’s safe to say she probably does,” Huey said. “It took Dewey kissing her for her to admit that SHUSH might be able to help.”

 

“You told him that?” Dewey exclaimed, glowering at Lena.

 

“No, Gosalyn did,” Huey corrected. “She’s staying in a hotel in town. Her and her dad.”

 

“SHUSH thinks it’s better to keep our agents close by in case of trouble,” Mrs. Beakley added, sticking her head out of the kitchen door to chime in. She resumed stirring the pancake batter.

 

“You kissed her?” Della said, looking at her middle son. She smiled at him. “Oh, that’s so cute. Did she kiss you back?”

 

“Mom!” Dewey complained and reddened. He sat at the table opposite his mother. “And yeah, she did.”

 

Louie rolled his eyes. “I should’ve been taking bets that she would. I would’ve made a fortune.”

 

“What happened exactly?” she asked. “None of you have told me anything.”

 

They took turns filling her in. When the food was ready, Webby returned, looking strained. She immediately sat beside Dewey and her hands were shaking. Dewey put an arm around her; he seemed to sense she’d been touch deprived and any affectionate gestures would be well received. She wasn’t sure it was a good idea to be so touchy-feely with someone who was on edge like that, but Dewey seemed to be an exception to Webby’s prickliness right now.

 

Scrooge entered last and Mrs. Beakley served them. She sat across from Webby.

 

“Steelbeak called while we were in the security room,” Scrooge informed them. “He wants his daughter back. He wasn’t pleased with my response.”

 

Mrs. Beakley put down the orange juice pitcher with a thud and glowered at him. “You didn’t think to call me?”

 

“It was a very short conversation,” he hedged and faltered under her glower. “It was!”

 

“What did he say?” Huey asked, looking at Webby rather than at his great-uncle and housekeeper, who remained locked in a tense look.

 

“He wants me back,” Webby said. She stared ahead of her as she spoke. “He realizes that SHUSH made me an offer and made me a counteroffer. He’ll wave my punishment for failing to kill you if I’ll accept house arrest for the next six months.”

 

“How generous,” Lena said sarcastically.

 

“You didn’t take it, did you?” Louie asked and Webby shook her head.

 

“He told me he loves me, but he only said that to manipulate me,” Webby said. She clenched her beak. Like Mr. McDuck said, it was a very short conversation.”

 

“Steelbeak doesn’t take setbacks very well,” Mrs. Beakley said, jerking her gaze away from her employer. “I imagine he’d already anticipated your reaction before phoning Mr. McDuck.”

 

“He said if I don’t agree to his terms, he’ll kill Dewey himself,” she said and Lena understood why her hands had been shaking when she came into the room. Her voice trembled too. “Just to teach me a lesson.”

 

“See what you started?” Huey exclaimed, staring at the middle brother in dismay.

 

“No one is dying!” Scrooge interjected. “SHUSH knows that he’ll have to appear in person if he wants to attack any one of us...and we’ll set a trap for him. See how he likes being the one kept apart from anyone who cares about him.”

 

Lena thought it unlikely that anyone cared for Steelbeak; Webby fidgeted and Dewey drew her closer. They were acting like they were already a couple. Or, at least, he was. Webby, other than kissing him back last night, hadn’t reciprocated. Given her upbringing, Lena wasn’t surprised. Whatever affectionate impulses Webby had were buried beneath conditioning. Lena felt that strange and almost overwhelming desire to protect her.

 

“We set a trap for him and then what?” Webby asked.

 

“He’ll be buried so far underground that he’ll never see the light of day again,” Mrs. Beakley snarled. At the raised eyebrows and exclamations, she clarified. “I don’t mean to kill him. I mean to keep him where he can never touch anyone again, especially Webby.”

 

“When does this plan start?” Lena asked, curious. She wanted to watch but from a safe distance. She didn’t want to chance her aunt suddenly appearing, though she didn’t understand why she would. Magica might have been recruited by FOWL, but she had no stake in their future. Not really. And she probably had a concussion like Black Heron after Webby’s assault.

 

Lena smiled at the memory.

 

“You’re something else, aren’t you, Webby?” she said and Webby flushed with pride.

 

“The plan starts as soon as Steelbeak shows his cowardly face,” Mrs. Beakley said. “And not a minute sooner.”

 

* * *

 

 

Black Heron was indisposed of. Other FOWL agents he had brought along with him had likewise vanished. Steelbeak had the feeling of a trap closing in on him. However, he needed to shock Webby into realizing that the other side would never support her. Sure, they might appear all nice, but they weren’t forgiving. She was his flesh and blood. Sure, she was also theirs, on her mother’s side, but he knew she had the potential to be ruthless. He just needed to show her how it was done.

 

Killing Dewey and Agent 22 should break all her ties to the outside world. He didn’t know how his daughter had grown attached to the kid, but that ended now. Once he was dead and she realized no one else cared for her outside of FOWL, she’d have no choice. As for Lena, well, Magica de Spell could take care of her as readily as she had the first time.

 

He needed to make her as vulnerable and scared as she’d been when he’d first abducted her. He needed her to understand that only FOWL could provide for her and accept her. The others never would. He didn’t know why Scrooge McDuck had taken her in, but he didn’t expect it to last, especially not after Agent 22 and Dewey Duck died.

 

If there was one thing you could count on, it was that billionaires didn’t waste money on bad investments. And, as far as Steelbeak was concerned, Webby was a bad investment for both sides. But she was his to punish and keep for as long as he deemed her useful. And no one else should dare to touch her. That went double for Agent 22 and Dewey Duck--did she think he was blind to the affection between them?

 

Lena, Beakley, and Dewey could undo everything that he’d worked to accomplish with Webby. They had to be eliminated, one way or another. Then he could call all of his chickens home to roost. Proverbially, of course.

 

He cast a glance at McDuck Manor on the town map on his phone. Black Heron had failed to penetrate its walls. Steelbeak had something else in mind. Not over...but under.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Huey makes an overture toward Webby and Webby has her first meeting with SHUSH.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, this fic is almost over. That's good because it means we can start on its sequel soon. :P If you're interested.

Now that she had Webby back, she was reluctant to let her out of her sight. With a few misgivings, she’d brought her granddaughter with her into SHUSH HQ. Webby was fussing with a piece of paper Dewey had given her; despite their previous assurances, she was on edge. The full day’s worth of sleep might have helped her somewhat, but being told that Dewey would die regardless had to have worn the effects away. Mrs. Beakley wouldn’t tolerate anyone touching the boys and Webby knew that, but she didn’t trust her grandmother as she should.

 

They were waiting for Ludwig Von Drake to welcome them into his office. Gosalyn and Darkwing were there, the latter as usual making a fool of himself. He’d started playing with an exploding pack of cards which had, predictably, exploded in his face. Mrs. Beakley sighed, ignoring him.

 

Webby looked all around the waiting room; there were plaques and awards on the walls and in cases. Mrs. Beakley had seen them so many times that her gaze skipped over them. Webby jumped to her feet to inspect a picture on the wall of her mother and Mrs. Beakley. Judging by the expression on her face, Webby had never seen a picture of her mother before.

 

“You are on our side, right?” Gosalyn asked and, reluctantly, Webby dragged her attention away from Wren’s face.

 

“I’m not joining up with FOWL again,” Webby said and Mrs. Beakley heard the warning note in her voice. She balled her fists and then, with an effort, unclenched them.

 

Gosalyn looked like she wanted to pry further. She stepped up to the other girl and Webby glowered, not budging an inch. Mrs. Beakley saw the bags under Webby’s eyes and knew that a good night’s rest didn’t eradicate possibly years of sleep debt. And probably sleep deprivation too, if Mrs. Beakley had to hazard a guess.

 

“You grew up with them,” Gosalyn pointed out.

 

Webby glowered back. “Not willingly.”

 

Mrs. Beakley rapped her cane against the floor and Gosalyn startled. Webby didn’t; her eyes narrowed. Instead, turning her back on Gosalyn, she resumed staring at Wren’s picture. Mrs. Beakley moved to join her.

 

“She died not long after you were hatched,” Mrs. Beakley said softly. “She didn’t think she’d be a suitable mother for you and left before you hatched.”

 

“I never met her, then,” Webby said softly.

 

“She panicked when she laid your egg,” Mrs. Beakley said. “She was afraid Steelbeak would come after you and that you’d suffer for her mistake.”

 

“And she was right…” Webby whispered.

 

“If she had come to me in the first place, none of this would have happened. We could have protected her.”

 

She put an arm about Webby’s shoulders and Webby flinched. She hadn’t been expecting the touch; she seemed to be as touch deprived as Lena had been. Unable to resist, Mrs. Beakley hugged her again. Normally, she wasn’t much for physical affection, but Webby needed it. She stroked her granddaughter’s locks.

 

“I’m sorry for what Steelbeak and Black Heron put you through,” she said softly.

 

Webby touched the phone in her pocket. As far as Beakley knew, FOWL hadn’t called her again after issuing the last ultimatum. That didn’t stop her from worrying about whether they’d contact her again.

 

“I hope that, in time, you’ll trust me enough to tell me what happened.”

 

Webby didn’t respond; her gaze remained hooked onto Wren’s face. There were similarities between herself and her mother and Webby looked like she wanted to reach back through time and retrieve her. Mrs. Beakley rubbed Webby’s shoulders.

 

They stood there, silent until Ludwig appeared. Webby looked relieved, perhaps just glad for an excuse not to have to reply. Then again, after the initial relief faded, she appeared like she was walking to the gallows again. Bentina wasn’t sure whether Lena had emphasized how much SHUSH were the good guys, but it didn’t appear that Webby entirely believed that. Then it would be up to her and Ludwig, as well as Gosalyn and Darkwing, to impress that upon her.

 

They filed into the room and Ludwig snapped up a gizmo from Darkwing before he ended up setting himself on fire or some such sense. Gosalyn settled beside her father and Webby remained standing, leaning against the chair and wary of putting her back to the door or to anyone in the room.

 

“Make yourself comfortable, Webbigail,” Ludwig said.

 

“I’m fine,” she insisted.

 

“Perhaps we ought to get to business then?” Ludwig said, unconvinced. “Darkwing Duck and Gosalyn, I’m not sure your presence here is necessary.”

 

“You aren’t afraid she’s going to snap?” Gosalyn asked and Webby’s eyes narrowed.

 

“She won’t,” Ludwig said. “If you two would please wait outside…?”

 

Gosalyn huffed, tugging her father out before he started on the Rubix cube that probably had further inappropriate weaponry on it. Mrs. Beakley breathed easier once they’d left, although neither Mallard looked happy about it. Once they had gone, Webby reluctantly sat down a chair apart from her grandmother. She kept touching her waist; they hadn’t allowed her to keep her daggers to enter SHUSH. Webby was so dependent on her blades that being without them made her uneasy. Mrs. Beakley didn’t want to contemplate a world in which Webby only felt comfortable armed.

 

“I’m glad you’ve decided to meet with us,” Ludwig told Webby.

 

Webby didn’t respond. Her knuckles had gone white clutching the chair. All of that conditioning had her thinking that SHUSH was the enemy and would hurt her. A few days wouldn’t erase ten years of propaganda. Gosalyn had been concerned that Webby might do an about-face. To Mrs. Beakley’s mind, it seemed more likely that Webby would shrink away and refuse to speak.

 

“You’re safe here,” he pressed. “FOWL can’t penetrate these quarters. And with your assistance, we can take down Steelbeak. You can be free for the first time in ten years, Webbigail.”

 

Webby’s gaze darted about the room and Ludwig seemed to suppress a sigh. “I promise you nothing will happen to you.”

 

“How do you know?” she asked softly. “Anything could happen. And the others are still in danger because of me.”

 

“We won’t let anything happen to them,” he reassured her. “And believe me, McDuck Manor has quite a prodigious security system. Mr. McDuck can be rather paranoid.

 

“You have agreed to take our offer, haven’t you?” he pressed.

 

“I don’t want to rat out FOWL,” she said softly. Her knuckles tightened on the chair. “But I can’t go along with them anymore.”

 

“You don’t have any loyalty toward them, do you?” he asked anxiously.

 

Webby frowned, gnawing her beak. After a minute, she shook her head. Mrs. Beakley sighed, relieved. She hadn’t thought that Black Heron and Steelbeak had inspired loyalty, but it was hard to tell since Mrs. Beakley knew next to nothing about her granddaughter’s upbringing. She reached out for Webby’s hand and Webby moved out of the way.

 

“Trust, however, must be built from the ground up,” Ludwig concluded, frowning too. “What can you tell us about FOWL?”

 

“What did you want to know?” she asked softly. She wasn’t challenging him; her gaze was focused downward.

 

“Do you know how many active agents there are? Other than Black Heron and Steelbeak, who else might be considered the most dangerous? What did your training consist of? Things like that.”

 

Mrs. Beakley gave Webby an encouraging smile. Webby hesitated still. Her legs were crossed and though she didn’t sense the same tension that compelled her to bolt two days ago, she was uneasy. That much Mrs. Beakley could tell. Any deeper emotions, unfortunately, remained hidden to her. She didn’t know Webby’s mannerisms anymore, not after that long a separation. It hurt.

 

“The other agents come and go,” Webby said, staring at the hardwood table in front of her. “I was mostly kept isolated. A lot of the agents dislike kids.”

 

She looked up and her beak quirked. “Even Black Heron and Steelbeak aren’t too fond of kids.”

 

“You refer to Steelbeak by his name. He didn’t let you call him ‘Dad’?” Ludwig pressed.

 

Webby shook her head. “He calls himself my father, but I wasn’t allowed to call him that. He didn’t want me to feel like I had an advantage or would get any leniency.”

 

“What compelled them to let you leave HQ for your mission?”

 

“Steelbeak thought it was time for me to prove myself,” Webby said. Her head dropped again. “And I failed.”

 

“You didn’t fail,” Mrs. Beakley said fiercely. “You proved that your conscience and your goodness are stronger than FOWL’s conditioning. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

 

“Bentina is right,” Ludwig said. “There is nothing wrong with being fundamentally good, Webbigail. It’s remarkable considering what you endured growing up.”

 

Webby looked up and her expression was anguished. “I was taught for ten years that I shouldn’t hesitate or overthink anything.”

 

“A good agent always thinks of others,” he replied. “And he always debates whether what he’s doing is right. You’re not a psychopath. You couldn’t kill with a clear conscience. Did you want to?”

 

Webby seemed to shrink deeper into the chair. “No.”

 

“But you were raised to think such behavior was aberrant.”

 

“Yes.”

 

Mrs. Beakley wanted to reach for her again but doubted she’d reciprocate or permit her to touch her. Webby’s guard had gone up again and it’d take a while to break it down. She envied Dewey his ease when he barely knew her. Something in Dewey had gotten through to Webby where Mrs. Beakley, her own flesh and blood, had failed.

 

“We’ll work on that,” he informed her. His tone was softer than normal. “I understand your reticence. Regardless of whether you feel loyalty toward them, they did help raise you.”

 

Mrs. Beakley clenched her fists. After they had abducted her and brainwashed her, that was. Ludwig was giving FOWL too much credit. Should she be grateful that they hadn’t left Webby to die of exposure?  
  


Webby nodded.

 

“Do you know which operatives they’d send if Steelbeak comes in person?” he prodded and Webby frowned, gesturing for a pen and paper. Clearly, she worried that FOWL might be able to penetrate these walls or have her bugged.

 

Once she’d finished the list, she pushed it back toward Ludwig, who scanned the names. He nodded.

 

“That’s a good start,” he told her. “Would you like a tour of the facility? You might be working with us one day.”

 

Webby shook her head. She still had that hollow, haunted look and Mrs. Beakley had the sense they were pushing her too far too soon. She rose to her feet with the cane’s assistance and squeezed Webby’s shoulder. Webby glanced back at her and she looked shocked. How often had Steelbeak touched her in a conciliatory manner? Had he ever done so?

 

“We’ll be in touch,” Ludwig said. “I applaud your courage, young lady.”

 

“It’s not courage,” Webby said softly. “I can’t lose Dewey or Granny again.”

 

Ludwig smiled. “It’s a start.”

 

Webby hugged herself as they went out. To herself, almost inaudible, she added, “It’s a start, but it’s not enough.”

 

* * *

 

 

Back at the manor, Webby had the sense that the jaws of a trap were closing in on her. Yes, Ludwig, as well as others, had reassured her that nothing was going to happen. FOWL was in no way going to get its satisfaction. The problem was that she didn’t believe them. She’d spent ten years hearing SHUSH undermined. It was hard to have faith in someone she’d always considered inferior. It was equally hard to have faith in a security system she knew next to nothing about when someone breaching it could mean death for the boys and Mr. McDuck. Her grandmother could handle herself and the ghost butler was already dead. She didn’t want to be responsible for Dewey’s demise, either directly or indirectly and the same held true for his brothers.

 

She agreed to whatever plan her grandmother had concocted regarding Steelbeak without hearing any of it. Once they were finished, she rushed to her room and paced. Again, its ill-fitting nature bugged her. This was the home of a five-year-old, not a fifteen-year-old. She couldn’t imagine how she’d been back then. It belonged to a different life, a different Webby. A Webby that had faith in her grandmother, for one thing.

 

Lena would be helping defend the manor and Webby wasn’t sure how she felt about that either. Provided Magica didn’t materialize, Lena’s powers ought to be sufficient. That assumed that Lena’s powers didn’t derive from Magica’s proximity, seeing as Lena was formerly Magica’s shadow. Magic was annoying that way.

 

She pulled out her cell phone. Did Steelbeak know when she listened to the voicemails? She knew he’d heard them, that he could access her phone at will. If she was going to betray them, should she bother holding onto the phone? It wasn’t like Dewey wasn’t down the hall if she wanted to speak to him. Of course, if anything happened to him, that might be her only record of him.

 

She sighed, plopping onto the too small bed. She’d already taken the first steps toward betrayal. What were a few more? If she didn’t betray them, she’d lose the people she cared about, few though they were. It was designed to turn her into the ruthless killer Steelbeak wanted, that he hadn’t been able to culture before. It’d been a mistake to let her out into the real world without restraints.

 

A knock came at the door and she jumped to her feet, reaching for weapons she no longer possessed. Hissing, she yanked open the door and discovered, to her consternation, Huey on the other side.

 

“Huey?” she said, correctly identifying the triplet by his red hat and red shirt. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I wanted to talk to you,” he said and then grimaced. “Obviously, I mean. Or I wouldn’t be standing here.”

 

“About what?” she asked, cautious.

 

“You’re really working with SHUSH, aren’t you? You’re not going to sell us out to get a better deal, are you?” he blurted. He was so earnest, like Dewey; unlike Dewey, she heard the desperation behind it. He was afraid of her. It stung a little, but it made sense. She’d given him no reason not to fear her.

 

“FOWL has nothing I want,” she said. She folded her arms across her chest and then lowered her arms. She didn’t want to give off the wrong impression via body language. “And...I don’t know if I want to stay here, but I don’t want to lose Dewey. Or Lena. Or even my grandmother.”

 

What was left of her heart couldn’t bear the thought. She felt cold suddenly and rubbed her arms. Huey gestured for her to let him in and she did, albeit with misgivings. She didn’t trust him, despite knowing he couldn’t possibly hurt her. He had the look of someone who spent most of his time buried in a book. That made him a kindred spirit, in a way. She’d spent a lot of time buried in books to escape reality too.

 

“You’re scared,” he said.

 

She turned away from him. “I’m not scared.”

 

And even though she was, she had no intention of opening up to him about it. Instead, she glanced out at her playroom. Even the name sounded ridiculously juvenile. She walked over to her Quacker Patch kid and picked it up. Her grandmother had had it commissioned to look like her. Webby remembered that now. She’d been so chuffed to receive it.

 

“It’s okay,” he said. “I understand. This is a big deal. But, you know, if you choose to stay here after this, we can be friends. If you want.”

 

This surprised her and she turned about to look at him. “Why?”

 

“Because you look like you could use a good friend,” he said and then blushed. “And Dewey’s auditioning for your boyfriend, it looks like.”

 

Webby blushed too, recalling his embrace and the kiss from a couple nights ago.

 

“I’m just saying that the offer’s out there,” he finished.

 

“Thank you,” she said. Even though she’d been raised in a supervillain lair, she was polite. She didn’t get that from Steelbeak--Black Heron had drilled it into her, for no real reason Webby could discern. Maybe she thought Webby shouldn’t be as rude as her father.

 

“I guess I’ll go now,” he said and ducked out. She watched him go and glanced back at her doll. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, she plopped the doll into her lap.

 

“Well, past me, what do you think?” she said once Huey had left and closed the door. “Should I trust them?”

 

Past Webby wasn’t talking. No surprise there. Another knock came at the door and Webby stiffened, wielding the doll like a weapon.

 

“Webby?” her grandmother called.

 

“Hi, Granny,” she said softly, subdued. Her grandmother entered the room and frowned.

 

“I need to order a bigger bed for you,” she said.

 

“If I stay,” Webby said and her grandmother’s frown deepened.

 

“Why wouldn’t you stay?” she objected.

 

“This doesn’t feel like home to me,” she said. Then again, FOWL HQ hadn’t really felt like home, either. They’d done their utmost to keep her on her toes and prevent her from really belonging. The fact was she didn’t remember what it felt like to relax enough that she could properly feel at home anywhere.

 

“Home isn’t a place,” her grandmother said. “It’s a feeling. And it’s something that needs to be cultivated. We’ll do whatever it takes to make you feel like you belong here.”

 

“What makes you so sure I won’t sell you out?” Webby asked. “Huey wanted to know that too.”

 

“Because I saw the way you treated Dewey and the way you reacted to him, Lena, and myself. You have a good heart, Webbigail, even if it’s buried because of FOWL. You’re still a good person. And you don’t have it in you to betray everyone for the sake of a small gain, especially when it means compromising everything you hold dear.”

 

“If Mr. McDuck didn’t want me to contact him or his family, why is he letting me stay here?”

 

“Because you’re family,” she said softly and brushed back Webby’s hair. She sat beside her on the bed. “He was worried you might attack me again or hurt Dewey. His reactions weren’t entirely logical and I might have gone behind his back to speak with you earlier.”

 

A lump formed in her throat and tears pricked her eyes. She wasn’t sure why, but she hugged her grandmother tightly. Her grandmother rested her chin on Webby’s head.

 

“Sssh,” she soothed. “It’ll all work out. You belong here. You deserve happiness too.”

 

Webby’s beak quirked. After so long, she wasn’t sure she remembered what happiness was anymore.

 

The house rumbled and they both jumped to their feet. Webby assessed the room for any potential weapons and Mrs. Beakley scowled, handing Webby what looked like a solid brass desk lamp. Webby unplugged it and hefted it, testing its weight. It would suffice, assuming that whatever was coming could be knocked out in that manner. It felt like someone was drilling beneath the house.

 

“We’d better check the security system,” Mrs. Beakley said, scowling. “Because I believe Steelbeak has just made his first move.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blah blah blah, depression.

Scrooge hadn’t planned on protecting against someone tunneling beneath the manor and Lena wasn’t equipped to handle such a massive endeavor. Webby’s heart beat triple time in her chest as she, her grandmother, Lena, Scrooge, and the boys amassed whatever weapons were on hand to deal with this new threat. Webby wasn’t sure how well trained the boys were and so she moved protectively in front of Dewey. They both knew that Dewey would be Steelbeak’s first target, followed by Agent 22.

 

The house continued to shake and Webby realized it was going to take hours, if not days, for Steelbeak to successfully tunnel his way beneath the house. As Scrooge had pointed out, there was solid rock beneath the manor and if Steelbeak turned the wrong way, he’d tunnel himself off the cliff. Webby knew they couldn’t be so lucky, even if she hoped for it a little. It would solve so many problems if her father accidentally offed himself.

 

Tension rode high in the manor; they couldn’t be on alert all the time. It was exhausting. Therefore, they slept in shifts. Duckworth checked beneath the manor to determine Steelbeak’s progress while Scrooge employed Gyro and Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera to head Steelbeak off. Whatever technology the foul fowl had at his disposal could be met and exceeded by McDuck Enterprises. Gyro was confident that they’d be able to prevent him from tunneling underneath completely. It was a matter of catching up to the drills and halting their progress and Steelbeak, in doing this, was as subtle as a brick.

 

The other problem, as Duckworth reported, was that Steelbeak had to figure out how far to drill beneath before he reversed direction and pushed upward. Evidently, his machines weren’t equipped to determine pressure and oxygen levels and such. FOWL had done a rush job on the drills.

 

None of this comforted Webby too much. She kept pacing, unable to sleep and unable to stop picturing Steelbeak’s hands around Dewey’s throat as the teenage boy struggled helplessly, dangling off the floor. This wasn’t pure imagination on her part. She’d witnessed something similar when she was eight and Steelbeak had scoffed at her nightmares. He’d told her he’d give her something worthy of nightmares. It was true, in that respect. She hadn’t slept well for months afterward.

 

Then there was the time that Steelbeak had shown her where they got their tuna and Webby had been a vegetarian for three months. Come to think of it, her childhood hadn’t been all that great. She’d still never eaten a hamburger, though, with FOWL’s track record, she feared that hamburger would be a SHUSH agent.

 

Gosalyn and Darkwing Duck were helping to shore their defenses. After the first hour, Webby had tuned the braggadocious duck out. She didn’t need distractions. She had the feeling that although Black Heron was currently incarcerated, Steelbeak might make a trip to free her in time for her to combat Webby and her grandmother. After all, how could they pass up a chance for revenge?

 

Lena had tried speaking with her, as had Dewey, but their words blurred into the background. Webby couldn’t focus on anything. She probably could have used a Xanax to calm her down, but even if she’d had access to something like that, she wouldn’t have used it since she was afraid of mind-altering drugs. She needed to keep her wits about her.

 

All in all, though, it was a tense and uncomfortable waiting period for Steelbeak to make his move. The house trembled, the drill sound went right through them, and the tension was unbearable. She was going to go out of her mind if it lasted much longer.

 

Unfortunately, as she’d noted with the others, it was impossible to keep one’s guard up 24/7. Eventually, fatigue and uncertainty crept in. She’d gone forty-eight hours without sleep before, thanks to Black Heron’s sleep deprivation punishment for nightmares when she was six. (Six. What the hell was wrong with that woman?) To be fair, Webby hardly remembered that time, because, one, it had been nine years ago and two, she’d wet herself in terror of Black Heron. Anything that had followed might have been blocked from her memory due to its terribleness.

 

Thus, when the time finally arrived for Steelbeak to materialize, Webby was nowhere near ready. She had, in fact, passed out in her old bedroom with Dewey holding her hand.

 

\-----

 

“This is an interesting picture,” Steelbeak crooned, looking at his daughter passed out on a too small bed with the object of her interest sprawled out beside her. He was holding her hand and curled up against her. It was almost enough to warm the cockles of his heart, assuming he had a heart. It was, however, enough to make him hesitate for a second. Webby wore a peaceful look he’d never seen on her before and she wasn’t crying in her sleep like she normally did. He had the strangest paternal instinct to stroke her hair and leave her alone.

 

But Dewey was wreaking havoc with Steelbeak’s plans for Webby. Moreover, FOWL hadn’t succeeded in demolishing Webby’s “secret heart”--did she really think he didn’t know about that? That was one of his greatest failures, not eliminating it from the start. After all the trauma she’d endured, how could she willingly side with these buffoons? And yet, she looked content.

 

She whimpered in her sleep and inched closer to Dewey, who in turn wrapped an arm around her. Okay, that was enough lovey-dovey crap. He could shoot the kid in his sleep and let Webby wake up to discover her feathers soaked in his blood. But that wasn’t effective enough and it wasn’t the way Steelbeak operated. He wanted big, dramatic numbers. He shook the kids roughly awake.

 

“Rise and shine, campers,” he crooned and Dewey yelped. His blue eyes went wide with shock and dismay and he tugged Webby closer to him regardless of the danger.

 

“You’re not getting your hands on her,” he told Steelbeak.

 

“I’m not here for her,” Steelbeak said and rolled his eyes. “I’m here for you, dummy.”

 

“Oh,” he said and then, as realization dawned on him, “Wait. What?”

 

“Did you really think I’d leave my granddaughter and Dewey undefended?” Agent 22 called and Steelbeak whipped his head around. It was enough time for Webby to punch him in the back of the head. Good, she was fast. He pivoted, wrapping a hand about Dewey’s throat. It was more effective to threaten him than her.

 

“Put him down,” Mrs. Beakley growled. “Now.”

 

In Webby’s face, Steelbeak glimpsed dismay and raw terror. Could she actually care about this whelp? It looked like she might. She surged to her feet and dove at Steelbeak with blades flashing under the lights. Steelbeak moved back, wielding Dewey like a shield. It didn’t work, however, when he put his back to Mrs. Beakley and she punched him hard in the solar plexus. Gasping, the supervillain went down on his knees and Webby freed Dewey from his grasp.

 

“Are you okay?” she whispered fiercely.

 

“Never--” Dewey coughed, choking a little--”better.”

 

“Get out of here,” Mrs. Beakley ordered Dewey. “Let us handle him.”

 

She pressed a button on her hip and Steelbeak had to assume she’d summoned backup. Very well, if that was how she wanted to play it. He pressed his backup button too. FOWL should be sending reinforcements any minute now to take down SHUSH. Any minute now…

 

“I don’t want to fight you, kid,” he told Webby. “You’re my daughter. A little hellraiser like me. But you let Dewford, Lena de Spell, and your grandmother in too far. You should know better than to trust anyone, Webbigail. They’ll just use you and spit you out as soon as they’re done.”

 

“No,” Webby said and her voice trembled. “That’s you.”

 

“I’m hurt, Webby,” he said. “Really? You think so little of your old man that you think I’d willingly kill someone you cared about just to teach you a lesson?”

 

“That’s exactly what I think,” Mrs. Beakley snapped and Steelbeak snarled, pulling out a gun and training it on her chest.

 

“No one asked your opinion, Agent 22,” he snapped back.

 

“Why should I trust you?” Webby said. “When have you and Black Heron ever done anything but lie to me and mistreat me?”

 

“We did what we did for the good of FOWL,” he retorted. “Because we saw potential in you, potential you’re squandering by hanging around with these goody-goodies.”

 

“Black Heron only kept me alive because it amused her,” Webby said and she was shaking. “And because she knew if she crossed you, there’d be hell to pay. And then she stopped caring.”

 

Eh, that was entirely possible. More than possible, it was highly likely.

 

“You could’ve been so much more and instead, you’re throwing it all away,” Steelbeak said. “I’ll give you one more chance to make things right. Come with me and I’ll even let one of them live. You can choose which one.”

 

He spun around, aiming a bullet for Dewey, who flung himself to the floor and avoided the danger. Mrs. Beakley kicked the gun out of Steelbeak’s hands and it too went flying; Webby caught it. She looked uneasy; her training hadn’t included firearms for fear that she might take revenge.

 

“I thought she told you to run, kid,” Steelbeak said to Dewey.

 

“I wasn’t going to leave Webby,” he shot back.

 

“You’re inspiring loyalty,” he said. “See? That’s a good quality in a leader for FOWL. Look at what you’re throwing away, Webby. You’re tossing all of this out in exchange for a hug now and then? You don’t need affection. You can always hire a hooker for that.”

 

“Are you saying I’m the same as a hooker?” Dewey said and Webby’s gaze slid to him.

 

“Ignore him,” Webby advised and her hands shook as she held the gun trained at Steelbeak’s broad chest. She didn’t want to hurt him; he could see it in her eyes. He advanced, holding out his hand for the gun, but she wouldn’t relinquish it. He thought that she might give it to Mrs. Beakley, but not him. Already she trusted her grandmother more than him and he was the one who had raised her.

 

Moreover, she belonged to him, not to her grandmother. Rage crept in and he knocked the gun out of Webby’s hands. Scrooge McDuck stepped into the room and slid the gun along his cane until it fell into his hands. Steelbeak glowered. Where were all of these people coming from? And was that Darkwing Duck and Gosalyn Mallard nearby?

 

“I am the terror that flaps in the night,” Darkwing Duck announced, throwing gas pellets around himself and prompting everyone to cough. “I am the Christmas hold music that you hear in November before Thanksgiving. I am Darkwing Duck!”

 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Steelbeak grumbled. “Don’t you ever take a day off?”

 

“Crime doesn’t take a break and neither do I,” Darkwing retorted.

 

“Get a life!” Steelbeak snapped. “You have to have more important things to do than annoy me.”

 

“You’d think so, but, no, not really,” Darkwing answered. “This is kinda it.”

 

“If you two are done bantering?” Scrooge snapped. “We have a situation here.”

 

“I get paid by the line,” Darkwing said. “Now, where were we? You owe me a buck fifty, Steelbeak. I’m charging you by the line too.”

 

“Would you get a life--” Steelbeak snapped again.

 

Dewey eased away, rejoining Webby. He held her hand and Steelbeak again had conflicting feelings. He ought to let Webby be happy, even if it wasn’t with him. On the other hand, what was happiness against greed and ruling the world? Nothing. Happiness meant nothing to him, so why should it mean anything to his daughter?

 

Gosalyn had vanished in the meanwhile, which Steelbeak took as ominous. He hated when that little brat disappeared. He pivoted on the spot and then groaned when a frying pan struck him in the face. It sent him to his knees, but it didn’t knock him out, not yet.

 

Where the fuck was his backup?

 

“The kid is still alive,” Black Heron commented and he wished he could move toward her voice, but he was wary of making himself nauseated with more abrupt movements. “You’re slipping, Steelbeak. I expected him to be dead already and Webby weeping over his corpse. Could it be that you actually want your daughter to be happy? I’m disappointed in you.”

 

Steelbeak snarled, grabbing Black Heron by the throat. Despite the double vision, he managed to snag her just fine. His eyes blazed and she trembled, possible fear shooting through her. Good. She should know better than to question his authority. That was downright insubordinate.

 

“Questioning your boss? Not a great idea, Heron,” he snapped. “I told you before that Webbigail is mine to do with as I see fit. If I haven’t killed Dewey yet, then I have a good reason and you should keep your mouth shut.”

 

He tightened his grip on her throat and she went limp, knowing better than to fight him. In a one on one match, with her concussion, she didn’t stand a chance. Moreover, fighting him was a good way to find herself dead by his hand. He had no difficulty killing quarrelsome agents and her constant nattering about Webby had been a thorn in his side for years.

 

“Should we let them fight amongst themselves or should we break it up?” Dewey asked.

 

Mrs. Beakley moved up beside them and smirked, delivering a hard punch to Black Heron’s skull. Evidently, although Steelbeak was handling the situation, she still wanted revenge. Steelbeak smiled suddenly, malicious and calculating. Black Heron froze.

 

“I could leave you to Agent 22,” he proposed. “After all, she has every reason to see you dead for what you’ve done to her granddaughter. Give me one good reason I shouldn’t feed you to the wolves right now, Heron.”

 

“Because Agent 22 is your enemy too,” Black Heron spat, reeling from the blow to the head. She swayed in Steelbeak’s grasp and he applied pressure, prompting the woman to gasp.

 

He tossed her aside carelessly. “Good point. How about this? If you survive the following encounter, I won’t kill you. Take it or leave it. That’s the best offer you’re gonna get all day.”

 

Dizzied and off balance, Black Heron tried to catch herself before she fell but didn’t quite manage. Instead, she collapsed to the floor and tried to rise, only to fall back down. Mrs. Beakley rounded on her and, lest Steelbeak think he was in the clear, he found himself faced by Gosalyn, Darkwing Duck, and Webby. Webby? So she had turned traitor. That was a shame. He’d have to kill her now.

 

“You’re rejecting me, after all I’ve done for you,” Steelbeak said, incredulous. “Do you know how many people would’ve killed to be in your shoes? How many people have killed to be in your shoes? And you’re throwing it all away for what? A kid, an old lady, and a two-bit wannabe sorceress? You insult me, Webbigail.”

 

“I never asked to be a FOWL agent,” she countered. “I never asked to be your protege. You kidnapped me when I was five. You never gave me a choice in what I wanted to do with my life. Now I’m choosing and it’s not you. It’s people who love me, who want me for who I am and not who they want me to be. I’m choosing me, Father.”

 

“You’re betraying your family to be weak,” he shot back. “You really think these people will care for you? Why should they? They barely know you. Your grandmother is clinging to your five-year-old self. Dewey wouldn’t recognize you if you vanished for another six months. As for Lena de Spell, she has no real power. Why not align yourself with people who can help you rather than people who hold you back?”

 

“They’re not holding me back,” she said. “They’re showing me something you never did. Love. Affection. They don’t make me feel like a freak for wanting to be happy.”

 

“Happiness isn’t everything,” he shot back. “You don’t really know what’ll make you happy. You only think you do because you have no idea what power can do.”

 

“I’m not living the life you want me to,” she said and shook her head.

 

Darkwing Duck and Gosalyn had remained mostly silent throughout this exchange, but Darkwing advanced, shooting his gas gun in Steelbeak’s face. Steelbeak swiped at the gas and Darkwing pounced, having no problem seeing and pinning his opponent to the floor. Steelbeak growled, attempting to throw him off, but Gosalyn smacked him in the head with that frying pan again. What the hell. Had she watched too much Tangled?

 

“You shouldn’t have left HQ, Steelbeak,” Mrs. Beakley said with satisfaction in her tone. “Because now you won’t be back for a very long time.”

 

————

 

“How does it feel to be free?” Dewey asked once the dust had settled and everyone was where they ought to be, including Black Heron and Steelbeak in DPD custody.

 

Webby shook her head. “I don’t know yet. Ask me again in a few days when it sinks in.”

 

He wrapped an arm about her shoulders. They were sitting in her bedroom; Scrooge was getting her a new bed since this was obviously too cramped.

 

“Are you happy?” he asked and she smiled weakly.

 

“No, but I think I can be,” she said. “Once I’m used to it and knowing that I don’t have to look over my shoulder anymore or worry about someone coming to kill me when I sleep. Or have to hide my secret feelings or be tortured when I have nightmares…”

 

He hugged her to him. She could tell he was alarmed by the last admission and she smiled, trying to take the sting out of it.

 

“Thanks, by the way, for believing me,” she said and kissed him on the cheek. “I appreciate it.”

 

“You wanna go do something normal, that teenagers do?” he asked and she cocked her head curiously at him.

 

“Like what?” she said.

 

He grabbed her by the hand and tugged her to her feet. “Anything you want. You’re free now.”

 

She grinned. “You know what I’d like to try? A hamburger. I’ve never had one before.”

 

As his look of incredulity, she laughed. It was the first time she’d laughed in a non-malicious way in so long that it was rusty and she was at first confused that she was the one who had chuckled.

 

“C’mon,” she said and beamed at him. “Let’s go eat a hamburger.”

 


End file.
